


Brave New Broken

by Soprano



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Angst, F/F, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Peripheral Johnlock, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-25
Updated: 2014-02-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 16:21:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 25
Words: 25,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1058979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soprano/pseuds/Soprano
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A worldwide terrorist attack wiped out all digital information on the planet and fried all electronic equipment. Billions died, society collapsed. People resorted to many regrettable practices, including slavery.<br/>With no plan or desire, Molly Hooper finds herself in possession of a slave who turns out to have a very complicated story.</p><p>____________<br/>Trigger Warnings: Rape, abuse, torture. Though it's mostly alluded to in descriptions of the past and rather vague. There are special notes for chapters with the highest trigger risks.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Like so many films, books and television shows have predicted, a terrorist attack came that killed all electronic devices on the planet and wiped out all information stored electronically. Most devices were eventually restored, but all financial assets were deleted, immense amounts of information were lost. They called it The Erasure, if only to avoid calling it “The Pulse” like most of the aforementioned fictional stories did.  
Almost 2 billion people died, even more were severely injured – in vehicle crashes, in hospitals, even in their own homes. Giant corporations fell. Economic and political constructs collapsed. A massive wave of panic reverted the human development and turned people into uncivilized savages. Society crumbled. There were no laws, no police, no prisons. It would take years to re-coordinate the value of whatever from now on would be money.  
When eventually the panic died down, a new society was built. Barter was reintroduced as the most popular form of payment. New governments were being put together from the remnants of their former versions. New laws were being written, new police units assembled. The world was recovering. But not fast enough, and often incorrectly. Like a bone broken sideways, not properly set, the new society was twisted in a lot of places. And the most important of those flaws was the reintroduction of slavery.  
Keeping criminals in prison was both financially and logistically challenging. The government had no assets to spare, taxes were not yet being effectively collected. But with no punishment in sight, crime was tearing through the world like wildfire. Something needed to be done. Whoever had that idea, however the majority decided that that idea was acceptable is hard to tell now. But instead of life sentences in prison, people were turned into slaves. A free working force, only costing what they eat, and most owners didn’t feed them much. Soon slavery became more widespread, not only as punishment. People were sold into slavery, often people would sell themselves in order to support their families. Which was hardly a good decision, but when desperation hits, you do what you can. And then you die in someone’s basement.  
Many people were against slavery, of course. But if there’s one thing that this new society carried on from its predecessor, it’s that the minority’s rights were only hypothetical, and no one really listened to what those people had to say. 

Detective Molly Hooper was one of those people. She did not believe that anyone deserved to have their rights stripped away from them, reduced to a number tattooed on their chest and used as expendable work force, sex slaves, toys.  
Before The Erasure, Detective Hooper was a medical examiner for Scotland Yard. But proper police procedure was replaced by simpler and less expensive investigation. Molly had the opportunity to become a medical practitioner, one of the best earning jobs in this new society. Everyone was always getting hurt, trying to fix themselves, failing, and then running to the nearest doctor they could find. It would be a good job to do. But instead Molly joined law enforcement, doing her best to make sure no one would be punished for crimes they did not commit, making every effort to reduce the amount of people being forced into slavery, and of course, keeping the actual criminals off the streets.  
No one believed at first that it was a job she could do. She was a gentle wallflower, often unable to look people in the eye, let alone punch them in the face. But things have changed. In a world where the weak simply did not survive, Detective Hooper made a decision to use the strength that most never knew she had. She began training, she began learning, she became more confident and physically stronger. And while she did not really instill fear in anyone because she never meant to, she gained respect of both her colleagues and even some of the criminals. The former knew they could count on her to do her job well, the latter knew that in a world where justice was hard to come by being investigated by the most honest cop in the area was a genuine stroke of luck. 

Whatever changes came, whatever adjustments Molly had to make to survive in this new world, one thing she never intended to do was compromise her beliefs. Which made it all the more difficult for her to face the decision she had to make when one of the people she helped acquit during one of her cases offered her a slave as a thank-you gift.  
Molly hated slavery, despised the practice entirely, and she would never EVER own a slave. Not now, not ever. But as it turns out, circumstances are not always as black and white as one would wish.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on, Detective! Just take one.” The man in front of Molly exclaimed with a happy smile. “You have no idea how useful they can be. Help you around the house. Maybe provide some other services.” He winked, and Molly shuddered.   
“No. No! Oh God, no. No, never.”   
“Oh, Detective, don’t be like that! You put hundreds of people into slavery each year, it’s time you enjoyed the results.”  
Molly felt sick for a variety of reasons. Most importantly, the existence of slavery in general. But more pressingly, the man in a way was right. She did indeed through her job send people into slavery. Far fewer than anyone else holding her job would, and never willingly, never directly. And yet, she did. Another thing forming a turmoil of disgust in her stomach was that this man now advertising the joys of slave-owning to her was free because of her. Unfortunately, sometimes horrible people are genuinely not guilty of the crime they’re accused of. And you have to let them go.   
“Come with me.” The man offered Molly to follow him downstairs, but she politely declined.  
“No, thank you, I think I’d better go.”  
“Please, Detective, it’ll just take a minute.”  
Molly considered the situation, and decided that perhaps assessing the condition his slaves were in would not be a bad idea. Slaves didn’t have a lot of rights. None, basically. But if they were kept in horrific conditions, perhaps Molly could throw an anonymous tip at one of the rebel organizations that went after especially cruel slave owners or perhaps inform a friend of hers that specialized in freeing slaves that most needed it.   
When they reached the basement, Molly heard a noise she would never forget. A collective gasp of fear from several people at once. People waiting for something horrible to be done to them.   
“Take your pick, Detective!” The man said joyfully. “How about this one, eh?” He unlocked one of the cages that the slaves were kept in and led out a young man. His shackles made a high-pitched metallic sound as they rubbed against the chains attached to the wall behind him. “He’ll serve you well, and for a long time too.”   
“I’ve already told you, I do not want a slave.” Molly repeated her previous position. She tried to keep her voice calm, but frustration was taking her over. She had, of course, seen many slaves in her life. She’s seen places like this one too, and even worse, much worse. Yet, every time she did, it made her miserable and furious, hopeless and angry. She felt like nothing she did made the world better, and that everything, everything, everything was in vain.   
“I’m just trying to show my gratitude--“   
“What’s wrong with this woman?” Molly cut him off and directed his attention toward a female slave in the far corner of the room. She was sitting in an awkward position, apparently dead to the world. Her eyes were glassy and empty. Unlike the other slaves, trying to instinctively protect themselves by moving away when their master entered the cellar, this one simply sat there like a ragdoll, unmoving.  
“Ah, that one, I don’t know. She was already a mess when I got her. Got her cheap though, so I thought it was worth the deal. She’s pretty, thought she might be a good shag, but look at her. Fucking a mattress is more fun.”  
“I think she requires medical attention.” Molly stated the obvious.  
“Yeah, well. Not really worth the trouble. Might just sell her to the mines. Not much else she’s worth for.”  
“Are you insane?!” Molly almost yelled. “She’ll die there!”  
“That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”  
The mines, of course, were not the actual mines. Well, sometimes they were, but really it was a term used for a collection of hard jobs that slaves were sent to when no master wanted them anymore. Almost no one made it out of the mines alive.   
Molly was torn between a desire to cry and punch the man in front of her as hard as she could.   
“Listen, Detective, if you don’t want a slave, that’s fine, I could--“  
“I’ll take her.” Molly cut him off again.  
“What, her? This one? She’s useless.”  
“Well, you said you wanted to thank me, so that’s what I would appreciate. I want her.”   
“Okay, as you wish. Who am I to judge?”  
Molly wasn’t sure what that meant, what he thought she would do to the slave she requested, but obviously not what she was actually intending to do. 

The specified slave was unchained from the wall and pulled up to her feet. She could barely stand, part from physical weakness and part of a complete lack of desire to move. She seemed to be in some sort of trance.   
“Want me to haul her to your place?”  
“No, thank you, I’ll take her with me now.” Molly couldn’t believe she was actually being polite to this monster. She also couldn’t believe she was now actually in possession of a slave. But she figured sometimes punching her emotional integrity in the throat was worth it if it meant saving someone’s life.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: descriptions of past abuse and trauma, though not very detailed.

Before The Erasure Irene Adler was a dominatrix. A fascinating and well-paid job, but very dangerous when you think about it. She was a high-class professional in high demand, which lead to popularity among some very powerful clients. Ones that had a lot to lose. Ones she has seen – and often put – in very compromising positions. As insurance that none of her clients would later come after her, she collected some sensitive information. It started with no malicious intent whatsoever, just something she did to protect herself. Some of that information might even do some good someday, she thought. Of course, her natural desire for thrill and intellectual stimulation soon led to her involvement in activities that could easily get her killed if not for her precious little get-out-of-everything-free card in the form of a well-protected mobile containing enough data to guarantee her a happy, safe and wealthy life should she ever choose to play a trick on someone with a lot of power and money. A precious little get-out-of-everything-free card that was fried and destroyed like all other equipment during the Erasure.  
She never did get the chance to play a trick on someone wealthy and powerful, but she did manage to piss enough people off, so the destruction of her leverage effectively drew a target on her head and she had to go into hiding.  
But you can only hide for so long. She was eventually captured by whatever was now called government and offered a few choices on what her fate would be from then on. To no one’s surprise, she chose slavery. Simply because the rest of the options were considerably worse.  
And then she was reduced to a number tattooed above her collarbone, sent into slave training and sold. Like anyone in that position, she hoped for a good master. Like most in that position, she did not get lucky. Her first master purchased her as a sex slave. Irene realized something akin to irony in this situation, but was hardly capable of enjoying a laugh over it. She was still proud, still tried to retain the remains of her dignity, and even with an owner that wasn’t a complete monster, those qualities hardly worked in her favor. The master, of course, turned out to be an abusive degenerate that enjoyed hurting people. He was one of those who relished in this new society where buying humans and doing whatever the hell you wanted to them was completely acceptable. It was his dream come true. And he intended to enjoy it.  
He kept his slaves until they were completely destroyed. Physically frail and emotionally broken. Irene spent 9 months in his torture dungeon, until one day one of the other slaves he owned killed him. The rest of the slaves were then returned to the training facility and resold.  
The next master acquired slaves for manual labor. Which was fine, but he didn’t feed them very well and didn’t care much for their health or safety. He also had a temper and was known to take his anger out on the slaves whether they deserved it or not. One day after one of the slaves made a mistake, the master became furious and attacked everyone in sight. Irene ended up with a broken leg, which really was rather lucky considering the injuries some of the other slaves suffered. She was quite useless to him after that and he sold her back to the facility, where she was patched up and resold once more.  
And that third master was who truly broke her. He was like the first one, but infinitely worse. So horrific were some of his “sessions” that Irene couldn’t even remember them later. They were simply blacked out from her memory as her brain made desperate attempts to protect itself from the trauma.  
The master made a point not to maim his slaves. He wanted them to last. He wanted them to stay beautiful. But there are so many ways you can hurt a person without breaking bones or chopping off pieces. He kept his slaves until he got tired of them and then resold them. He sold Irene when she stopped responding to torture. When she barely had any reaction to anything anymore, and that was just no fun. So, he sold her to a man with few morals, but who did not actually commit that murder he was accused of and was later proven innocent by Detective Molly Hooper.  
Mere days after her latest master realized that she was hardly good for anything, Irene would be sold to the mines where she would inevitably die. But life took a different turn. Her master brought in a police officer in order to give her a nice slave as a gift. Instead, the detective chose to take home the broken damaged slave that was sitting unresponsively in the corner. Isn’t it funny how one event can completely change how your life is going to play out?


	4. Chapter 4

Molly carefully led Irene into her house. The house was really too big for her and she sometimes considered renting out a room, but it was structured in such a way that a tenant could hardly get enough privacy from the landlord and vice versa. She considered selling the house, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was her mother’s house. Molly inherited it after her mother’s pacemaker burned up inside of her during The Erasure.   
Molly sat Irene down on the sofa and went to draw a bath and get some clean towels and clothes. When everything was ready, she carefully lead her new slave into the bathroom… Her new slave. No. No, she was not “her slave”. She was her guest. Her guest. She was helping her out. Get her cleaned up, check her injuries, fix her up as much as possible and then file the documents to give this woman her freedom back.   
“I don’t know what temperature you prefer your bath to be, so I made it warm. You really need to get cleaned up.” Molly said to Irene in a calm and comforting voice, but the woman did not react. “Please.”   
Irene started slowly taking her clothes of, her eyes still empty and distant. She wasn’t really in a trance. She was there, conscious, aware, but she tried to distance herself from whatever torture was inevitably coming. And she knew that when the master told her to do something, it was better to do it. She took Molly’s words as an order and began obeying.  
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Molly quickly left the room as she had no intention of making her guest uncomfortable by being there as she stripped off her dirty torn clothes. From outside the bathroom Molly added: “You can use the shampoo and soap if you’d like. The towels are for you and there are some clean clothes on the toilet lid.”   
Molly heard the sound of a body entering the water and sighed in relief. 

For the next 15 minutes Molly just sort of…paced. It wasn’t usually something she did, but she was really nervous and confused. She wasn’t sure what to do next. Wasn’t sure how this person in her bathroom would respond to…anything really. She realized the woman had been through a lot and needed to be, so to speak, handled with care.   
When the bathroom door finally creaked open, Molly jumped in surprise.   
Irene emerged from the bathroom in the clothes provided to her. They were too big on her even though they were, in fact, quite small. But Irene was always rather thin, and after being in slavery and rarely fed for almost 3 years, she seemed to barely be there. A skeleton wrapped in skin.   
The t-shirt sagged so much that it fully exposed her slave tattoo. PL379. “P” stood for “political prisoner”, “L” stood for “life sentence”. Molly caught herself feeling grateful that the woman wasn’t a murderer and then felt guilty about it. She realized the emotion was not entirely immoral. After all, having a convicted murderer in her house was a rather distressing concept, and yet something felt wrong about allowing this horrible ink brand to define the only real perception Molly so far had of the person in front of her.   
“Are you alright?” Molly enquired.   
Irene nodded. She wasn’t looking up. One of the first things the slaves were taught was never to look up at the master unless specifically ordered. So, she looked at the floor, unmoving.  
“Are you in any pain?” Molly asked. The conversation would clearly be one-sided for a while.   
There were some scars on Irene’s arms, both from cuts and burns. And those were just the ones visible thanks to the short sleeves. Molly feared to think what was hidden.   
Irene wasn’t sure how to reply her new master’s question. She was indeed in pain. There were still some unhealed cuts on her back and legs, no longer bleeding, but refusing to heal simply because her body didn’t have the strength or resources to put to that task. Yet, in her experience, admitting pain when asked often led to receiving more pain. But then again, so did lying. It was a lose/lose. So, she simply turned around and lifted her shirt to reveal and gash in her back, 5 inches long and looking rather unhealthy, possibly infected.   
Molly couldn’t hold back a gasp. But she was, after all, a physician. She used to do post-mortems. She’s seen worse. Though never on a living person.  
She briefly left the room and returned with some basic medical supplies.  
“Please, sit here.” She motioned toward the sofa. Irene complied.   
As Molly touched the wound with a cotton ball, Irene flinched. She immediately stilled, yet the initial reaction broke Molly’s heart a little. She knew the reaction wasn’t to the pain itself. In fact, that touch probably didn’t cause much physical discomfort. It was the touch itself. Just being touched usually meant horrible things for a slave, and while they were trained to endure, the body still tried to protect itself.  
Molly cleaned the wound as carefully as she could and dressed it with gauze.   
“Any other open wounds?” She asked firmly. She wanted to be caring, she wanted to be gentle, but most of all, she didn’t want this woman to die from infection because she didn’t admit to needing care.   
Irene stood up and lowered her jeans. Several unhealed burns and cuts were now staring Molly in the face. She didn’t hesitate. She cleaned and dressed every single one and motioned and Irene to put her clothes back on.   
“I don’t have antibiotics, but I’ll try to figure something out to help those heal.” She informed. “You need rest and nutrition. Follow me.”   
Irene followed.


	5. Chapter 5

In her former life, Irene was a rather good judge of character. But people changed in this new world, and her former life fell apart so quickly that her radar never really had the time to adjust. She had a hard time understanding what her new master was like. She seemed nice and caring, genuinely. But Irene couldn’t allow herself to count on her being just that. This could and most likely would be a mind game. A lot of masters enjoyed those. Make the slave feel safe, make them feel like they’ll be alright, cared for, left in peace. Then watch them fall and break harder than ever before.  
Not all torture is physical.

“Please, have a seat.” Molly offered Irene a chair by the kitchen table.  
Irene sat down. She kept her eyes lowered but followed her new master’s every move.  
“I’ll get you something to eat, and you can stay here for as long as you need, but I want you to know I’ll be filing the papers for your release tomorrow.”  
Irene stilled and almost raised her eyes in shock.  
“No…” She whispered. “Please, Mistress, don’t.”  
Molly turned towards Irene, startled by the unexpected sound of her voice.  
“What?”  
“Forgive me, Mistress.” Irene apologized for speaking without being allowed to, but of course Molly was only more confused. What was she apologizing for? Why didn’t she want the papers filed?  
“Please, don’t call me that.”  
“I’m sorry, Master.”  
“What? What, how is that better?” Molly was even more confused, and then really uncomfortable as she noticed the panic on Irene’s face.  
A lot of female slave-owners did not like being called “Mistress”. It sounded like they were in the sex industry, or like someone cheated on their spouse with them. So, they preferred to be called 'Master'. Irene knew this, Molly did not.  
“I…” Molly was desperately searching for the right words to say. “I am not your Mistress, or Master or… Please, don’t…” She was assessing the situation as best she could and decided that first-name basis was probably out of the question. The woman spent a long and hard time in slavery and calling someone who technically owned her by name would probably be very uncomfortable for her. “Just call me “ma’am”, alright?”  
“Yes, ma’am.” Irene was grateful for the clarification.  
“Why don’t you want me to file for your release?”  
“I…” Irene hesitated. She never even considered that this problem would ever come up. Not many people acquired slaves just to let them go. It almost never happened, which is why no one really worried about those sentenced to life not doing their time properly. They were the most expensive kind, as opposed to those that were only sentenced for a few years, as the master didn’t have a time limit on owning them. Hardly anyone ever paid the price for a life-sentence slave just to set them free. And by the time they were cheap, they were almost dead anyway. “I…have enemies. They will find me. I’m safer this way, ma’am.”  
It wasn’t the whole story, but it was true. If released, Irene would be given her name back. She would be given her life back. And then one of the people after her would undoubtedly promptly end it.  
“You could…leave. I don’t know, change your name or something.”  
Here’s a thing. Everyone always thinks they can solve all your problems the second they see you. But no one really knows another person’s story, not really. And any solution you can come up with has most likely already crossed the person’s mind.  
“Thank you for the suggestion, ma’am, but…it won’t work.” Irene didn’t know how to politely tell Molly that she had no idea what she was talking about. Arguing with your master was never ever a good idea. But she also couldn’t risk Molly doing what she said she would do. “Please, ma’am, don’t. They’ll kill me.”  
That was harsh enough to scare Molly out of her original plan. At least for the time being. She would try bringing it up later, or coming up with something else. She had no intention of owning this woman, but she also wasn’t interested in accidentally getting her killed. This all wasn’t as simple as she’d originally thought.  
“Okay, alright, I won’t. Don’t worry.” She carefully watched Irene until she saw that the woman relaxed a little. Just a little. She was tense and terrified perpetually, but at least she was no longer worried about the latest threat. “So, what’s your name?”  
When Irene was first sold into slavery, she wondered about what she would say to that question. She knew revealing only her first name would hardly put her in a lot of danger, but then again, you never know who your master knows, and anonymity was definitely her friend. She was one of the very few slaves grateful for the numbers. But it never came up. No master before Molly ever bothered with a name.  
“René, ma’am.” She replied quietly.  
“Nice to meet you, René. I’m Molly.”  
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”  
The conversation seemed so pleasant that for a second, Irene relaxed, but quickly remembered that this was probably exactly what this new master was trying to trick her to do. Let her guard down. It was all part of the mind game. Perhaps, even the promise to set her free was part of the mind game. Which was actually good news.  
“Alright, let me cook you something.” Molly said with a smile and went digging through her cupboards. “I have to warn you, I’m vegan, so I’m afraid you’ll have to share my diet while you’re staying with me. I simply don’t have anything else to offer. I hope that’s okay.”  
Irene almost had to smile at that. She hadn’t eaten in days. Her previous masters fed her as seldom as possible, only often enough to guarantee she wouldn’t die. Not getting a steak was really the least of her worries. Besides, whatever diet Molly had, it clearly worked for her. The sleeveless shirt demonstrated strong muscles – the result of her police training. Her skin was flawless, her hair was beautiful.  
“I have a lot of stuff to choose from though.” Molly broke Irene out of her assessment of her new master’s physical qualities. She opened a cupboard to reveal a collection of bags filled with various beans and grains. Another cupboard contained cans of corn and various vegetables, and a giant bag of dried meat substitute. She looked really proud of her food collection. “I have good sources.” She explained with a smile.  
Irene was becoming worried about this mind game. It was really elaborate, and she felt that she might be losing as she considered for a second that it might actually not be a mind game. That was a dangerous thing to think.  
“Is there anything specific you might want?” Molly asked.  
Irene hesitated. Any food would do, really. She hadn’t eaten in so long, she didn’t even really feel hunger anymore. Just emptiness and weakness.  
“Anything at all?” Molly persisted.  
Irene decided to take a shot.  
“Carrots, ma’am.” A simple request. Or it would have been, before The Erasure. Now though, it was difficult to tell which foods would be available and which would be worth more than gold. Irene was always naturally slim, but with her job in her past life, she could never risk gaining weight, so sometimes she would eat nothing but carrots for a whole day. She hated them sometimes, but right now she craved them. A memory of something that was so mundane once.  
“Wait here.” Molly said with a wild grin.  
She returned a few minutes later with a moderately-sized carrot in her hand. Still covered in soil, freshly pulled out of the ground.  
“I grow some stuff in my back garden.” She explained.  
Then she carefully cleaned the carrot with a used toothbrush. Cleaned it so well, you could eat it unpeeled. Then she removed the top and peeled the carrot, saving the peels on the counter top. This was not a time to waste food, and so she saved the peels and the tops for later use. Then she triumphantly presented her guest with the carrot.  
Irene hesitated for a second, but she could do little else but extend her arm and take the carrot out of her master’s hand. Then she slowly bit down. The carrot was so sweet, so immensely satisfying that she let out a barely-audible moan. Then she stilled in terror. This was not appropriate, she was not supposed to do that, she would get punished for such behavior.  
“I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She immediately apologized, hoping it would be enough.  
“For what? Moaning shamelessly over biting a carrot?” Molly teased, but immediately realized her mistake as she saw Irene tense so hard, she almost turned into a statue.  
You do not tease a person who spent years being brutally punished for every little thing they did wrong, and often even when they didn’t really do anything wrong.  
Irene was terrified into a stupor. She dug her fingernails into the carrot, if only to make sure not to drop it. Making a mess on the master’s kitchen floor would only make things worse. She didn’t move a notch.  
“Oh my God!” Molly cried. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, I didn’t…I was just joking, It’s okay.” She almost ran towards Irene, hoping to somehow make it better. She extended her arm towards her, wishing to put her hand on the woman’s shoulder, but quickly jerked it away, realizing that for someone who’s only experienced touch in the form of pain for God known how long, this gesture would not be particularly comforting. “It’s okay, really. I’m flattered. I mean, gardening is not really my first priority, but I do take pride in having grown such a well-tasting vegetable. And I’m just glad you’re enjoying it.”  
A tear rolled down Irene’s face. She was confused and scared, but not of Molly. She just didn’t know what was going on and it terrified her.  
“I’m so sorry.” Molly went on. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to. Please, forgive me.”  
She was openly panicking. She hated hurting people, especially when they did absolutely nothing to deserve it. She just wanted to make it better. Detective Hooper knew how to take a criminal apart in the interrogation room, but she had absolutely no idea how to put the broken person in her kitchen back together.  
A thin layer of sweat was now covering her forehead. She watched Irene clutch the carrot like she was about to explode and felt utterly helpless.  
Suddenly, Irene relaxed. She slowly and awkwardly looked up. Molly was more terrified than her. She was panicking. There was genuine guilt in her eyes. All those things, especially put together, would be very difficult to imitate.  
It wasn’t a mind game. 

“I’m okay, ma’am.” Irene reassured.  
Molly let out a huge sigh of relief and apologized a few more times for good measure.  
When she finally calmed down she went back to arrangements for dinner. The peels and top from the carrots were well-suited for a sauce.  
“How about pasta?” She asked.  
Irene nodded. What else could she do?  
“Are you allergic to anything?”  
“Dairy, ma’am.”  
“Well, that won’t be a problem.” Molly smiled and pulled a pot out of a cupboard, then paused suddenly.  
“No, no, wait!” She reconsidered the pasta idea. “When was the last time you ate?”  
“A few days ago, ma’am. Not sure exactly.”  
Molly took a deep breath and pushed her anger aside.  
“Pasta would be a bad idea then. Too heavy. I’ll make soup, something easily digestible. Then I’ll puree it so it’s not too much strain on your stomach.”  
Irene just nodded again. This wasn’t just too much care for a slave, she thought. This was almost too much care for anybody. Her mother didn’t even prepare food for her with such care. To say it was confusing would be an understatement.  
Molly began preparations for the meal. Boiling water, cutting vegetables, selecting herbs. She was fussing over the pot, and then a wide smile spread across her face when she heard a crunching sound behind her back as Irene took another bite of the carrot.


	6. Chapter 6

After dinner, Molly prepared a bed for her guest. Fresh sheets and an extra pillow. She led Irene into what would now be her room. For once having an oversized house came in handy.  
“There’s not a lot of furniture.” Molly said apologetically. She never really used that room, so there was only the bed, a bedside table, a closet, a desk and one chair. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know, and I’ll try to get it.”  
It was now clear that Irene would be staying for an indefinite amount of time. Molly couldn’t legally set her free per Irene’s own request, and she couldn’t just let her go either. A slave not attached to a master would simply be captured, returned to the facility and resold. Despite her best efforts, Molly was now for all intents and purposes in possession of a slave. But she was planning to make the best of the situation.  
“Thank you, ma’am.” Irene responded. At that point her brain couldn’t even hypothetically process what she could possibly request. Asking for a carrot was a heroic feat of conquering fear, she could hardly bring herself to ask for an armchair.  
“Good night, René.”  
“Good night, ma’am.”

Irene hadn’t slept in a bed in years. Most masters kept their slaves in basements or empty rooms without any furniture. The luckier slaves got mattresses and old sheets to cover themselves up, but Irene was never one of those lucky ones. It’s not like she forgot what a bed felt like, but it was an almost alien sensation to crawl under a warm blanket, onto a soft mattress, to rest her head on a pillow. She indulged in another inappropriate moan of pleasure, this time with no fear of punishment.  
And then she slept for 13 hours straight.  
She never even realized just how exhausted she was. Sleeping only occasionally, and never for more than a few hours, or even minutes sometimes. It was enough to allow her body to more or less function, but clearly not enough. So, when finally given the opportunity, she slept and slept and slept. She only finally woke up because her bladder demanded attention. She was disoriented at first, trying to remember where she was. And then confused about what to do next. Was she allowed to move freely around the house? Did she need to ask for permission to use the toilet? What where the rules?  
She slowly peeked out of her room, listened carefully and realized she was alone. She decided to take a chance and use the bathroom. In her first master’s house, slaves were forced to perform their bodily functions in the very same cages where they lived, and the resulting mess was rarely ever cleaned. Irene was fairly certain, however, that whatever kind of master Molly was going to be, she most certainly did not want her slave to pee on the floor.  
So, Irene used the toilet and even washed her hands. It felt surreal. These things were so routine once, but now felt like a fairy-tale.  
Then she heard the sound of a key turning in a keyhole and panicked. She ran back into her room and listened. She heard Molly enter, ruffle some bags, open and close some doors, the fridge, some drawers, wash her hands, open and close her bedroom door. Finally Molly came back out, put a kettle on and returned into the living room. Irene decided that was a good time to emerge from her hiding place.  
“Ah, there you are!” Molly smiled kindly, seemingly genuinely glad to see Irene. “I’m making tea, would you like some?”  
Irene nodded lightly. Her gaze was still slightly lowered. It was, after all, the way slaves were supposed to behave. Never look the master in the eye unless ordered. Molly knew that too.  
“You may look up if you wish.” Molly clarified. “There will be no punishment. In fact, there will not be any kind of punishment here whatsoever.”  
Irene hesitated, but carefully raised her head just slightly. Just enough to see Molly smiling a little.  
“I brought some things for you.” Molly went on. “Toothbrush, hairbrush, some new clothes that should fit you better, although I’m certainly hoping to feed you to a bigger size. Your own towel, some underwear.” She kept pulling stuff out of her bags. It was all the basics, but they felt priceless. 

During her time with her second master, Irene heard a story from another slave. He said there were some master that got slaves that were in a horrible condition and nursed them back to health. 'The mothering type' he used to call them. It wasn’t so much that they truly wanted to help, but rather that they got off on it. On being a savior, a hero. Of course, once the slave was in good health, those masters resold them and got themselves a new toy to play with.  
Irene wondered if that was what Molly was doing. Maybe that’s why she picked Irene in her former master’s basement. The most broken slave in the room. Irene felt that perhaps that wasn’t the case, but she couldn’t be sure. She realized, of course, that even though most slave owners were cruel sadistic people, there were the select few that kept slaves as help, as unpaid housekeepers. Irene hoped with all of her heart this was what Molly would turn out to be.  
“René, I want you to understand something.” Molly broke Irene out of her thought bubble. “I never wanted a slave. I hate slavery with a passion. I work in law enforcement to make sure as few people as possible end up in slavery. I came into that horrible man’s basement because he wanted to gift me a slave and I wanted to make sure his slaves were kept under acceptable conditions; and I only took you in because otherwise he would sell you to the mines and you would die. I had every intention to let you go,” she saw Irene tense at those words, “but I know now that is not what you want, and so I’d like you to stay with me. We’ll work something out, okay? Maybe you could do stuff around the house, and I’d pay you? Like a live-in maid? Would that be acceptable?”  
Irene thought about this for a few moments. Pay her? Her master was offering to pay her?  
“You don’t have to pay me, ma’am.”  
“I know I don’t have to. I want to. You’re not a slave, René. Whatever kind of situation we work out, and whatever the paperwork or that number on your chest say, I just want you to remember that in this house, you are not a slave.”  
The kettle whistled alluringly from the kitchen.  
“Let’s have some tea.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Black, green or herbal? Or would you perhaps prefer coffee?” Molly’s collection of teas wasn’t quite as impressive as that of her legumes, but she still had some variants to offer.  
“Coffee would be nice, thank you, ma’am. Black, please.”   
“You know, if you’re only taking your coffee black because of your lactose-intolerance, I might be able to get some soy milk. One would think it’d be a rarity, but soy is easier to keep than cows, so it’s actually not that hard to find.”   
Irene hesitated. It’s been so long since anyone took interest in her well-being, let alone her preferences, she was actually flattered and strangely…warm. She almost hated to reject such a generous and caring offer.  
“Thank you, ma’am, but I really just like it black.”  
“Alright.” Molly smiled and grabbed a small container from a cupboard. “Here’s sugar, but keep in mind it’s in short supply right now, so…” Then she realized that saying that to a person that still saw herself as dirt with no rights was basically equal to a complete prohibition. “I mean, I don’t use sugar much at all, so you can use as much as you want, but once we run out, I might not be able to get more for some time, so you might want to stretch it out.” She hoped desperately that was an effective enough save.   
“Thank you, ma’am. I don’t need it.”  
But it probably wasn’t.   
Molly prepared tea for herself and coffee for Irene. The coffee was exquisite, and Irene struggled not to show her excitement with any more inappropriate moans. She was fairly certain she’d reached her weekly quota on those. Molly clearly noticed her enjoyment regardless and smiled lightly but said nothing.   
They drank their respective drinks in silence for a few minutes. Then Molly finally spoke.  
“What is it?”  
“Ma’am?”  
“Something’s bothering you. Say it. Please. You may speak whenever you wish. There’s no ‘speaking out of turn’ or anything of the sort. If you want to say something, just say it, okay?”  
Irene nodded. Of course, it would take her a while to get used to these new rules, but it was a change she could hardly complain about.   
“I…I don’t think you should be paying me, ma’am. For whatever work I’ll be doing.”  
“Why not?”  
“I’ll be living in your house, ma’am. Consuming your resources, occupying a room. Perhaps, me doing housework or whatever chores you might need me to do could just be me paying you back for those things, ma’am.”  
“So, you’ll basically suggesting indentured servitude?”   
“Yes, ma’am.”   
“But…wouldn’t you want things for yourself? I don’t know…a hobby or something?”   
“Ma’am…” Irene was still terrified to push boundaries that Molly assured her did not exist. “I spent 35 months sleeping on floors, eating once or twice a week, wearing rags and being…” Her voice broke for a moment. “Ma’am, what I mean is, a bed and a meal is more than I could hope for.”   
Now was Molly’s turn to lower her gaze. She didn’t want to look at Irene with pity. She didn’t need pity. No one ever really needs pity. She also didn’t want to show her anger, because it wouldn’t do much good right now either. So, she looked into her cup and nodded. She wanted to tell the woman before her that she could and should hope for more, but she knew perhaps that wasn’t exactly true. Whatever Molly did to make Irene’s life better, she was still a slave, she still wasn’t free, and apparently couldn’t be free. So, Molly settled for the best thing she could provide to make her guest comfortable.  
“Okay. Okay, but if you want something, let me know, alright? You don’t have to just…exist. I understand you might be a long way from happiness, but I want you to at least be comfortable.”  
Irene nodded compliantly and sipped her coffee.   
“You may use whatever you want in the kitchen.” Molly decided to clarify. “Any food, water, tea, coffee, anything. If you’re hungry or thirsty, just take whatever you need. If there’s something I’d like for myself, I’ll just put a note on it so you’ll know to leave it for me, okay?”  
Irene nodded.  
“And you may go anywhere in the house, except my bedroom. Just because…well, it’s my bedroom.”  
“Of course, ma’am.”  
“And you may use the shower, but water is a bit of a luxury, so I would appreciate if you limited showers to one a day.”  
Irene smiled lightly. Limit showers to one a day. Showering every day, in an actual shower, with warm water. Compared to being hosed down with a cold spray a few times a month, it sounded like heaven.   
“I…” Molly was about to tread on a sensitive territory, but she knew it was best to get it out of the way. “I don’t know if your reproductive system is still functional, but just in case, I’ll get an additional supply of hygiene products and put them in the washer. Use whatever you need.”  
Most female slaves sentenced to life either had their tubes tied to prevent pregnancy or had a complete hysterectomy performed before they were sold, just to make them as low-maintenance as possible. Irene had her tubes cut, but was otherwise intact. She often wished she wasn’t. The usual discomforts of menstrual cycles aside, her more sadistic masters often used her natural bodily functions as a reason for punishment.   
The hygiene products were rather expensive, often hand-made since the factories producing them shut down after The Erasure. Most women resorted to making their own. And obviously none of the masters bothered to get that sort of thing for their slaves. Especially not when they could just beat the crap out of them instead.   
Irene involuntarily froze at the memories flooding her mind, but she quickly took them under control after noticing a worried look on Molly’s face. She didn’t want her master to feel guilty over something that really wasn’t her fault.   
“Thank you, ma’am.”   
Molly looked at her guest in hesitation, not sure whether it was safe to say anything else.  
Finally, she remembered a reason to speak.  
“I got something for you.” She went to the fridge and produced a large spikey green plant leaf. “Aloe vera. It should help your wounds to heal.” She explained. “Do you think you could shower now, so I could apply this and redress your wounds for the day?”  
“Of course, ma’am.” 

Irene took a little longer in the shower than she needed without even realizing. She just enjoyed the warm water on her skin so much, even if it did sting a little running over her cuts and bruises. Then she remembered what Molly said about using too much water and promptly got out of the shower and dried herself carefully.   
Molly then applied the aloe vera juice to Irene’s back wound as carefully as she could. Irene still winced at the first touch, though it didn’t actually hurt. But understanding how much another person’s touch was still uncomfortable for her guest, Molly offered Irene to apply the juice to her leg wounds herself, which Irene was very grateful for.   
Once all of Irene’s wounds were properly dressed, the two women sat in a rather awkward silence. Finally, Molly said:  
“I’ll wash your new clothes.”  
“Ma’am?” Irene said almost longingly. “May I do that? I assume laundry is to be part of my duties.”  
“Well, yes, eventually, but I think you should take a few days to rest. You’ve been through a lot, you’re injured. You could use a vacation.”   
Irene hesitated for a moment but nodded in agreement.   
After the laundry was taken care of, Molly cooked another meal. A delicious vegetable stew with fresh herbs from the back garden. After eating about 75% of it (Molly managed to prevent Irene from noticing the difference in their portion sizes as she just wanted the woman to eat as much as she wanted), Irene asked for permission to retire to her room to rest. Molly explained that she didn’t need to ask permission, but of course, it would take a long time before her guest was completely comfortable with her new-found, albeit localized, freedom.  
Irene then slipped into her bed and slept for another 9 hours.


	8. Chapter 8

Irene didn’t leave the house for the first 3 weeks of her stay with Molly. The first week was simply a time of adjustment, but later a serial killer showed up in town, one targeting slaves. And so Molly asked, almost begged Irene in the most polite way possible to just stay inside. She didn’t want her guest to feel as though it was an order, she wasn’t forbidding her to go outside, but she worried.  
It was one of the first things that started breaking Irene out of her slave headspace. She’d realized by then, of course, that Molly didn’t see her as property, but it was her genuine fear for Irene’s safety that shifted something in the woman’s perception of herself. 

One night Molly came home carrying an emotional storm cloud over her head. The investigation wasn’t going well, the killer was still on the loose, and she felt like she was the only one that even cared.  
She crawled slowly onto the sofa and allowed her exhaustion and frustration to take over her entirely. She was slipping into a dark and sad space when a voice brought her back to reality.  
“Ma’am…”  
“Yes, René?”  
“Do you need anything, ma’am?”  
Molly’s eyes were empty and stared at nothing in particular.  
“A better world?”  
It sounded like sad sarcasm, but it was also true.  
“How about tea for now, ma’am?”  
“Okay.” She dug her face into a pillow, then called after Irene. “And join me, would you? I don’t want to drink alone.”  
Irene smiled sadly. It sounded so dramatic, like she was intending to down a bottle of whiskey, not a cup of green earl grey.  
A few minutes later Irene returned with two steaming mugs, passing one to Molly she sat down on a chair next to the sofa. Silence lingered for a while.  
“No one cares, you know.” Molly finally spoke. “About this killer. I mean, we’re supposed to catch him because he’s killing, and that means he’s dangerous, and because he’s…” She paused, holding back her anger. “Because he’s destroying property.” She swallowed half of her tea in one gulp. “When did this happen to us, René? When did people become property? How does burning our phones suddenly turn us into commodities? How does wiping out our bank accounts turn us into a society where you can buy a person for a watch or a stack of plates?”  
Irene stayed silent, not sure if the question was rhetorical. Suddenly Molly looked at her pleadingly as though truly looking for an answer. Irene hesitated for a while but said at last:  
“Perhaps, we were always like this, ma’am. Cruel and selfish, interested only in our own gain and comfort. Perhaps, the collapse of our former society simply broke down barriers that held our evil instincts in place, ma’am.”  
Molly stared at Irene with her mouth half-open. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that statement. It was a horrible notion, to think we are all monsters that have simply been let loose. To think that all those post-apocalyptic movies have been right all along.  
“René…”  
“Yes, ma’am?”  
“I’d like you to keep in mind that whenever you’re ready, I’m okay with you no longer calling me ‘ma’am’.”


	9. Chapter 9

When the slave murderer was finally apprehended, there was a lovely ‘case closed’ party that Molly didn’t attend. Instead she went home with a happy face and a giant bag.  
“René!” She called out upon entering her house. “Look what I got us!”  
Irene appeared in the kitchen doorway.  
“Do you need help with that, ma’am?”  
“No, no, it’s fine.”  
She had to put some effort into lifting the giant round thing onto the table. Then she stripped the bag off to reveal an enormous watermelon. She wiped it clean with a towel and cut it in half. It was perfect. Just ripe enough to be sweet, but not yet mushy. The smell was intoxicating.  
Molly cut off a semi-circular piece, then placed several cuts into that piece up to the rind to make it easy to break off smaller portions. She placed the ready-to-eat result in front of Irene.  
“Thank you, ma’am.”  
They ate about half of the watermelon in one sitting, with Molly placing new pieces in front of Irene as soon as she finished the one she was eating, until they were both so full with liquid they simply had to stop.  
“It’s over.” Molly finally spoke,  
“What is, ma’am?”  
“The killer, we got him.”  
“Congratulations, ma’am.” But the response was silence. “Is something wrong, ma’am?”  
“It’s just…” She sighed deeply. “He’ll probably be sentenced to slavery now. And that’s sort of…I don’t know, ironic? Poetic justice? Utterly horrible.”  
“You’ve done your job, ma’am. You cannot blame yourself for what happens next.”  
“I know, I just…”  
“You saved a lot of lives, ma’am.”  
Irene rarely dared to push like this, but she knew that Molly needed someone to tell her she’s done well. She was often conflicted about the work she did and what it led to, but she did the only right thing in this situation. It was unfair that she felt so horrible about it because she was too good a person.  
“Thank you, René.”  
Later that night they finished the rest of the watermelon, which was actually a rather terrible idea. They spent half of the night running to the bathroom to empty their bladders, even running into each other once, which made them both giggle like carefree children that they weren’t. 

The killer was indeed sentenced to lifetime slavery. But before he could be sent to the facility for training, he wrecked the bed in his cell and used the resulting sharp metal to cut his neck open.  
Molly was silent for 3 days after that.  
At the end of the third day Irene knelt by the sofa where Molly was lying and said quietly:  
“It’s okay, ma’am.”  
Molly turned to face her as she went on.  
“It’s okay to feel…okay, about this. Ma’am. It’s okay that you don’t feel bad that he’s dead. I know you didn’t want him dead, ma’am. Believe me, you didn’t. That’s not what this is, ma’am. You just know the world is better off without him.” She gave Molly a few moments to process. “There’s nothing wrong with that emotion, ma’am.”  
A tear rolled down Molly’s face as she replied.  
“I’m not sure that’s true.”  
“It is, ma’am, trust me. I’ve experienced a lot of terrible emotions in my life, and this isn’t one of them. You’re just too kind to realize that sometimes not feeling bad about someone’s death really isn’t a bad thing. Ma’am.”  
“But it’s not just…I…I’m…”  
“Glad, ma’am?”  
Molly broke into loud uncontrollable sobbing.  
“Ma’am.” Irene called out and waited for Molly to lift her face out of the pillow and look up at her. “A terrible force is gone, ma’am. And you are glad for that. You’re glad also that he will not be sent into slavery, because whatever anyone might say, there are so many things wrong with that. Ma’am. Killing him would be wrong, letting him live would be dangerous, sending him into slavery would be supporting an immoral institution, ma’am. He died by his own choice, and the problem…solved itself. Ma’am, it sounds horrible, but that’s what it is. That’s what’s making you feel like this. Realizing that what happened, in a way, was good. And it was, ma’am. There’s nothing evil about feeling that way.”  
Molly looked at Irene and couldn’t respond. She simply nodded lightly and rested her head on the wet pillow, waiting for her sobs to subside, both deeply grateful for and slightly confused by this strange therapy session.  
Emotions are a tricky thing. And whatever else was felt that night, what stayed forever was the growing respect both women felt for one another. Molly appreciated Irene making the effort to help her through her pain that was miniscule and utterly insignificant compared to the things she had herself been through during her years as a slave. Irene admired Molly for doing a job that required strength of character and often a certain amount of cruel detachment, while remaining such a gentle and kind soul.   
They didn’t say any of it, of course. Not that night.


	10. Chapter 10

After the killer was out of the picture, it was safer for Irene to go outside. Though, of course, it would never be quite safe, at least it wasn’t as horrifying. So, she started going out for small errands. Restocking supplies, sending out mail. It was rather pleasant at times. Irene certainly couldn’t ever feel like she was out for a nice stroll as a free person, as slaves were required to have their slave tattoos be visible in public at all times and to always have all proper documentation on them. Still, with Molly not enforcing any kind of curfew on Irene, it was nice sometimes to just…go outside. It was a special kind of pleasure for someone who spent 3 years in basements and dungeons.  
But as is usually the case in life, no pleasure lasts too long. One night, a few months after Irene started going outside, she returned home weak and pale and called out to Molly in a tired voice.  
Molly instantly knew that something was wrong. Her gut sank.  
“What happened?”  
“I…ma’am. I was at the market, and…I’m sorry.” She lifted her right arm as her face contorted with pain. The arm was bruised and swollen. “I think it’s broken, ma’am.”  
“Sit down.” Molly led Irene to the sofa and ran into her bedroom to make a call.  
She was silently thanking whatever deity was responsible for the recent repair and reinstallation of most of the city’s landline telephone communications. She called a friend of hers who was a doctor. Molly herself had a medical education, of course, but had neither the tools nor medication to properly tend to a broken bone. Most city doctors were reluctant to help slaves, and even when they did, they required additional payment and often did a lousy job. Besides, it was almost night. All the nearby hospitals were closed and almost no doctor would make a house call for a slave. Almost.  
Molly returned to the living room where Irene sat in the exact same position she left her.  
“Lie down.” Molly almost commanded, though in a soft and reassuring voice. She covered Irene with a duvet and put one pillow under her legs and another under her arm. Then she brought some ice from the kitchen, wrapped it in a towel and gently applied it to Irene’s arm. “Are you alright? Are you in a lot of pain?”  
It took Irene a few moments to react. She was in mild shock, thought she was gradually starting to feel better.  
“No, ma’am. It doesn’t hurt much anymore. Only when I move it.”  
“Okay. I called a doctor. It might take him a while to get here, but he’ll bring everything necessary to help you.”  
Molly carefully felt for a pulse on the wrist of Irene’s broken arm. It was strong, the limb was not deformed, it appeared to be a clean break.  
“Thank you, ma’am.”  
Color was returning to Irene’s face and Molly breathed out a sigh of relief.  
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Molly asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. It just might help identify the kind of fracture you have.”  
Irene hesitated.  
“It’s okay, you don’t have to…”  
“No, no, ma’am, it’s fine.” Irene sat up on the sofa, careful not to move her arm too much. “I was at the market, ma’am, and I was trying to reach for something. I accidentally brushed over this man’s arm with mine. And he…” She paused. “He looked at me, ma’am, at my tattoo, and he…expressed his disgust at a slave touching him, ma’am. Then he grabbed my arm and slammed it into a metal pole.”  
Molly’s face was blank for almost a whole minute.  
“For brushing over his arm?” She finally said in a quiet broken voice. “He broke your bone for brushing over his arm?”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
It was Molly whose face was pale now and it actually made Irene worry. As Molly walked to the far end of the room, Irene got up from the sofa to follow her.  
“Ma’am, are you alright?”  
Molly didn’t respond. She paced the room a few times, trying to wrangle her emotions. Then she picked up a lamp from the desk and launched it with full force against a wall. 

This wasn’t like Molly Hooper. To lose temper like that. To indulge in such uncontrollable rage. It really wasn’t who she was. But then again, who knew anymore who she was, or who anyone was in this new broken world.  
She watched the shattered remains of the lamp rattle to a stop on the floor by the wall. She was in a sort of void of anger, deafening and blinding. It consumed her entirely, but not for long. Whatever that emotional space was, she was torn out of it when she realized that Irene was standing next to the sofa trembling.  
She could almost deal with the world treating her as a slave, she could almost deal with strange men breaking her body for no reason in broad daylight. But Molly? Her master? Her host? Her housemate? The only person who was ever nice to her in the past 3 years – being angry, being violent. Because of her. That Irene could not handle.  
Whatever anger Molly was feeling suddenly washed out of her in an instant as she realized what she’d done. She triggered something in Irene. A memory of a violent master, a painful past. She almost ran towards Irene, but the trembling woman only flinched at her approach and lowered her gaze as if expecting something terrible to happen. Molly raised her arms, but didn’t dare to touch. She made a point to never touch her housemate without dire necessity, as she knew how uncomfortable it made her. So, she simply stood there with her arms half-raised in front of Irene, desperately trying to figure out how to fix this.  
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.” Molly said almost inaudibly.  
Irene broke into tears. And somehow Molly knew that this time it was okay. She closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around Irene, careful not to hurt her. Irene put her healthy arm on Molly’s back and pressed her face into her shoulder, still sobbing quietly.  
After a while, Molly slowly lowered them both to the floor, not breaking the embrace. And they sat there, holding each other in silence for almost an hour. Until a knock broke them out of their comfortable little world. Dr Watson was at the door.


	11. Chapter 11

Doctor John Watson was one of the city’s most famous and most notorious physicians. He was really good at his work, meticulous and truly caring. Which made a lot of people admire him. He was also always willing to help a person regardless of their status or level of freedom and generally believed that doctors were supposed to help anyone and everyone. And that made a lot of people hate him.  
Molly knew Dr Watson through work. Or former work, rather. Watson’s husband, Sherlock Holmes, was frequently called in as a consultant on cases the police could not solve by themselves. Watson often assisted.  
But then The Erasure happened, police work was simplified, staff reduced. Unsurprisingly, the number of crimes only grew, so often when the police could not solve something, they simply dropped it and moved on to the next case. It was horrible and depressing, but that was what had to be done. Of course, that also meant that bringing in an outside consultant became extraneous and simply unnecessary, and while Holmes still helped the police every once in a while, both his and Watson’s interests adjusted as the overall world situation changed. Watson became a full-time doctor again, while Holmes dedicated his time to…private cases.  
What most people didn’t know, of course, and probably wouldn’t believe if you told them, was that Sherlock spent most of his time freeing slaves. Private investigations were an unaffordable luxury for most people, but it was a very different story when a family member, lover or friend ended up in slavery because of bad police work, because of a stupid heroic move of selling themselves for provisions, or regardless of what got them there they were simply dying at the hands of a particularly vicious master and the only way to save them was to basically illegally steal them out. And that’s when they called on Sherlock Holmes.  
Or rather, they called on one of the anti-slavery activists. And if those people couldn’t find a way to help, they called Holmes. So really, Sherlock was still a consulting detective. Except now he wasn’t helping the police imprison criminals – he was helping set the innocent people free. Because after all Sherlock never really cared much about the law. He only cared about justice. And riddles.  
He only took cases that he believed to be worthy of his attention, researching the slave in question before deciding whether or not they deserved the work, time, effort and resources required to set them free. He almost never freed murderers, abusers or rapists, however cruel their masters were. There were exceptions, of course, but mostly he took the cases where he believed the punishment to be considerably more cruel than the slave deserved for their original crime. Of course, the case also had to be interesting enough. It baffled John sometimes that Sherlock could simply turn down setting a person free because the actual process of doing so would be too simple and not worthy of his time, but Sherlock always said that if it’s not all that difficult, the activists will find a way to save that person themselves. And they usually did. Though not always in time.  
That said, he sometimes took cases for free simply because they were interesting or – though he wouldn’t admit it – because he felt the person really needed help. After all, he didn’t even require income all that much. John was one of the best-earning doctors in town and they were never in need. Sherlock took payment mostly because he refused to be seen as a selfless hero by those in the know, and needed to keep an appearance of being a private investigator for the outside world.  
John, meanwhile, had a job at a hospital, and made as many house calls as he could. Often for poor people, often for slaves. And while many thought that wasn’t a very wise thing to do and wondered if he even had any income “what with all that trash he patched up”, the sheer amount of people he helped gave him a more than steady and considerable inflow of provisions, valuables, precious metals and other things one could trade or eventually sell whenever the whole money business was finally sorted out. But, of course, he would be doing it anyway, even if those people paid him nothing at all. 

“John! Thank you so much for coming!” Molly let Watson inside.  
They exchanged a brief hug, but this wasn’t a time for pleasantries.  
“Where’s the patient?”  
Molly led him into the living room.  
“This is my friend René. This is Dr John Watson.” She introduced them.  
Irene wanted to shake his hand, but wasn’t sure how to go about it with her right arm broken, so she simply bowed her head a little.  
“May I?” John set his bag on the floor and immediately started checking the condition of Irene’s injury. “No deformation, that’s really good news. ”  
Irene only nodded in response.  
“Does it hurt to move your arm?” Watson asked.  
“Yes, sir.” Irene replied.  
The doctor touched the swollen area carefully, assessing the damage. Irene winched at the pain. A few feet away Molly’s body involuntarily jerked with second-hand discomfort.  
“I’m fairly certain it’s a clean break, but you’ll need an X-ray to make sure there are no loose bone fragments. Can you come to the hospital tomorrow morning?”  
Irene looked up at Molly with a silent question.  
“Yes, yes, I’ll bring her in.” Molly replied for her.  
“Alright then. I’ll give you a temporary splint now. Tomorrow after the X-ray we’ll see if you might need surgery.” He was starting to put the splint on Irene’s arm while trying to distract her from the pain by explaining what would happen at the hospital. “Don’t worry, you probably won’t need anything but a cast for several weeks. Really, it looks like this is really not all that bad.” He looked at Molly. “Could you bring some water, please?” Then back at Irene. “There’s some medication I’d like you to take.”  
When the splint was done with, the doctor took some pills and packets out of his bag and took the glass of water Molly was now holding.  
“Alright, this is a painkiller.” He offered the pill to Irene.  
“No, thank you, sir. The pain really isn’t that bad.”  
“Alright.” He dumped the contents of a packet into the water and swished it around lightly, waiting for the powder to dissolve. “But you’ll need to take this, it’ll help with the swelling.”  
Irene nodded and complied when the glass was presented to her.  
“Now you just need to rest. Keep your arm above heart level. And I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”  
“Thank you, sir.”  
Molly walked Irene into her room.  
“Do you need help?”  
“No, thank you, ma’am.”  
Luckily, all her clothes had either buttons or zippers and were fairly loose and therefore easy to take off with one arm.  
“I’ll bring you an extra pillow for your arm.”  
Molly went into a storage room and dug out a large pillow which would create enough elevation for Irene’s arm to stay above heart level. She knocked on her bedroom door upon return.  
“May I enter?”  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
“Here.” Molly put the oversized pillow next to her on the bed, and Irene placed her arm on top of it.  
“I’ll wake you up tomorrow so we can go to the hospital.”  
“Thank you, ma’am.”  
“Good night.”  
“Good night, ma’am.”

Molly quietly closed the bedroom door and returned to the sitting room where Dr Watson was packing up his things.  
“Tea?” She suggested.  
“That would be lovely.”


	12. Chapter 12

Molly returned from the kitchen with a tray containing two mugs, a pot and the remainders of her sugar.  
“I have some soy milk if you--“  
“No, please, don’t vandalize my tea with that vile liquid.”  
“Oh, please, John, it’s not that bad.” She poured the tea into their cups.  
“I know you like it, but it tastes like poorly filtered mud to me.”  
Molly smiled and sipped her tea.  
“How’s Sherlock?”  
“Good. Good.” He lifted his own cup off the tray, but then quickly put it down, remembering something. “Oh!” He opened a side pocket of his bag. “He sent you a gift, actually.”  
“A gift? From Sherlock? Really?” Molly was skeptical.  
John produced a medium-sized bag of chick peas and held it out to Molly.  
“He got it from one of his clients.”  
“Oh, thank you. I love those.”  
“Don’t thank me. When he brought those home, the first thing he said was ‘I believe Molly enjoys this sort of thing. Perhaps you should give it to her.’”  
Molly giggled.  
“Well, I suppose that’s as much sentiment as you’d get out of Sherlock. I’m flattered.”  
She went into the kitchen briefly to put her gift away. She’s always been fascinated with Sherlock. He was, after all, a genius and a unique force of nature. But her initial infatuation passed fairly quickly after he and John became involved and later married. And Molly always remained Sherlock’s friend, and he often turned to her for emotional advice, even if that wasn’t how he phrased it and didn’t always realize that that was what he was doing. She was his best man at the wedding. And despite what some people said or thought, Sherlock’s choice was based on his affection and trust for Molly, and not an attempt to annoy his brother.

When Molly returned, John decided to tackle the hard stuff.  
“You didn’t tell me she was a slave.”  
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”  
“I didn’t even know you owned a slave.” He made a mild but noticeable accent on the world ‘owned’.  
“I don’t own her, John. She just lives with me.”  
“So, she’s not a slave? Why does she still have the tattoo? I could help have it removed, I have the equipment.”  
“No, John…” Molly lowered her eyes and sighed.  
“Oh! Wait,” John lowered his voice as if someone could hear them, “are you hiding her?”  
“No, I…I do technically own her.” She saw John’s eyebrows rise. He knew how she felt about slavery, so he expected an explanation of the situation. Any explanation, but certainly not this one. Molly hurried to clarify. “This man I helped acquit sort of…gifted her to me. He offered me a slave and I tried to turn that down, but then I saw her. And he said he’d sell her to the mines. She was in horrible condition, John. She would die there. I didn’t know what else to do.”  
“So, you took her in.”  
“Yes.”  
“That’s…that was actually, perhaps, the best decision you could have made under the circumstances.”  
“Thank you.” Molly actually felt better knowing that John didn’t judge her.  
“How long has she been with you?”  
“A few months. I tried releasing her, but she doesn’t want me to.”  
“Why not?”  
“I don’t know, she says she has enemies and that she’s safer this way.”  
“Do you think maybe Sherlock could help her? Give her a new name?”  
Part of what Sherlock did when freeing slaves was provide them with new identities and relocate them. Sometimes to other towns. In some cases to other countries, the ones where slavery didn’t really stick.  
“I don’t know. I’ll talk to her about it, but I don’t think she’ll go for it. I think there’s something really dark in her past. She probably doesn’t want it uncovered.”  
“I see.”  
“Don’t tell Sherlock about her, okay? Not her name or number or anything. I mean, I know the name’s made up, but still, who knows what he could deduce from that. I just…if he starts researching her, he might trigger something, and I don’t know how dangerous her past is. I don’t want to do anything without her consent. Please.”  
“Yes, yes, of course. I understand.”  
“Thank you.”  
And he would keep his promise and tell Sherlock as little as possible. But in doing so he would only make his husband curious. And when Sherlock gets curious, he starts digging. And so he would dig, and he would indeed trigger something without knowing it. In fact, no one would ever know it was Sherlock’s fault when a shadow from Irene’s past would come for her months later. Except Sherlock himself, of course, who would always hold that possibility in his mind with a light hint of something reminiscent of guilt.  
“You know, Sherlock was following the slave murderer case. I told him a few times to come in and help, but he said you would be fine on your own. He was right.”  
“Yes, well. Maybe if he did come in and help, 23 people wouldn’t have died.”  
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Detective, you got the guy.”  
“Not soon enough.”  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up a painful subject.”  
“No, it’s fine. And he’s right. He probably wouldn’t have helped much. I knew who the killer was fairly early on. The problem was actually catching him. It’s much harder now without GPS or credit cards or mobiles. I doubt there was much Sherlock could have done to help unless he was willing to join patrols.”  
“That’s unlikely.”  
They both smiled.

They talked for another 2 hours until John finally had to leave as it was getting really late. And though Irene’s bedroom door was closed, the house was quiet and old and not particularly sound-proof. She could hear most of the conversation quite well.  
She was grateful for Molly’s understanding of her situation, and even more so for her refusal to 'help her' behind her back. Many people think that you should do that for your friends. Help them even when they’re asking you not to. But sometimes that kind of help can get your friends killed.  
Irene didn’t know who this Sherlock was. Perhaps, in another life she would, but that life never happened. Molly would explain everything to her later, ask her if maybe she’d consider allowing him to assist her. Help her disappear. Molly was secretly relieved when she declined the offer. She’d gotten rather attached to her new friend and didn’t want to lose her. She felt horrible about such a selfish emotion, of course. But then, how can you feel bad about wanting someone around?  
Irene had a hard time falling asleep that night. The pain wasn’t agonizing, but much stronger than she would admit. Maybe she shouldn’t have turned down that painkiller. She drifted in and out of sleep for a few hours. Right before she finally drifted off into oblivion, she smiled as she remembered Molly introducing her to Dr Watson as her friend.  
She had strange dreams and the sleep was troublesome, yet she still had that faint smile on her face when Molly woke her up the next morning to go to the hospital.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See end of chapter for a trigger warning. It's a bit spoilery, so only read it before you read the chapter if you feel you might need it.

Luckily, Irene didn’t need surgery. As Dr Watson had predicted, the break was clean and all she needed now was a permanent cast that she would need to wear for at least 5 weeks.  
Molly paid for the hospital visit in silver jewelry. Precious metals and stones were the only things hospitals accepted. There wasn’t any kind of properly functioning healthcare insurance system yet, but they were working on it. Molly tried to pay John separately for his visit, but of course, he turned it down.  
Irene felt terrible about having put Molly through all this trouble, kept asking how she could ever pay her back, but there wasn’t much she could do. She kept saying she’d work harder, maybe take care of the garden. It took Molly almost 3 days to finally settle Irene’s mind about it. It wasn’t her fault, she’d done nothing wrong.  
It was, of course, even harder to make her take a break from her household chores and allow herself to rest and heal. It only worked when Molly pointed out that if she didn’t allow herself to rest, she would likely injure herself more, and that wouldn’t be good for anybody. So, for a while, Irene rested. She still did some of her chores, but at a slower rate and only the things that were easily achieved with one arm. Molly did most of the cooking. She tried to get as many fresh vegetables and nuts as possible. Even managed to get some vitamin-enhanced foods for Irene, to make sure her arm healed well. 

The year was winding down. It was becoming rather cold as winter holidays were creeping into people’s homes in the shape of odd decorations and occasional cheer. The holiday season had always been a strange thing and became much stranger after The Erasure. Some people clung to the ideas behind the winter holidays, others dropped those traditions altogether. A lot of people lost their loved ones during The Erasure, and this would never really be a happy time for them again, whichever way you spin it.  
Irene still had 2 weeks before the cast could be taken off when Molly had a New Year’s party at her house. Molly didn’t really want that party, but it was a newly established tradition for one of the detectives to hold the party in their home, and this year it was Molly’s turn. It was only a dozen or so people. A few police officers showed up, some brought dates. It was quiet and fairly nice. But Molly rather hoped they wouldn’t stay long after midnight.  
She’d discussed it with Irene beforehand, and Irene expressed that she would prefer not to be at the actual party. She didn’t feel comfortable being around those people. She wasn’t sure how it would go. Some of Molly’s colleagues were aware that she had a slave, and while Molly always made a point to say that Irene lived with her and wasn’t, in fact, her property, not everyone was very understanding of the situation.  
So, as the clock was striking midnight, Irene was hiding out in her bedroom, while Molly was in the living room with her colleagues, pretending to be excited. She would have very much preferred to meet the new year with Irene. Their friendship was comfortable and cozy. Irene’s injury made them even closer as she often required assistance, though at first she resisted actually accepting it. They started talking more as Irene was finally becoming more relaxed. Though Molly’s work didn’t always mean regular hours, whatever free time she had she spent at home, with Irene. They didn’t even notice becoming each other’s best friends. But it was painfully obvious now as one year was ending and another one beginning, and they were separated by doors and people that neither of them wanted there.  
The party was apparently going quite well because no one particularly wanted to leave. Of course, Molly would never just tell people to leave, even if she wanted them to, so she simply made her peace with having thrown a nice party and decided to wait for her guests to decide to go home whenever they were ready.  
About an hour after midnight, Detective Rondo’s husband decided to go in search of a bathroom by simply opening every door he could find. Mostly because he was relatively drunk at that point and that was probably his best bet at success. And that’s how he accidentally found Irene in her bedroom. He immediately realized who she was as his wife had previously warned him that there was a slave in Molly’s house; and while no one openly asked Molly about it, everyone sort of…wondered. 

“So, you must be Hooper’s slave.” He said with a slightly predatory smile.  
Irene didn’t reply.  
“What does she keep you around for, ah? Is she into some kinky stuff? I see you’re all bashed up.” He pointed at her cast. “She must be riding you pretty hard, managed to break some parts.”  
Irene was backing away into the far corner of her room, but there really wasn’t anywhere to go as he slowly approached her with fairly obvious intentions.  
“Does she share you around much? Bet she wouldn’t mind me getting a taste.”  
He finally backed Irene into the wall and slid a hand into her pants, using his other hand to pin her firmly.  
Just a few years before, Irene would have easily fought this man off. Probably even leave him a couple of scars to remember her by. But now was a different story. Years in slavery have left her with heavy emotional weight that doesn’t just go away. She was constantly terrified of her past coming after her. She was injured. She was broken.  
She could barely even make a sound to call for help. Deep down she wasn’t even sure if she had the right to do that. She knew Molly wouldn’t want this for her, and yet that’s what slaves were for, wasn’t it?  
He pulled his hand out of her underwear to unbutton her jeans and shove them down to her ankles. Then he unzipped his own trousers.  
“Is that why Hooper’s hiding you in here?” He pressed her broken arm against the wall. "Didn’t want us to see her toy’s broken?”  
A strangled cry of pain was the first and only thing to come out of Irene’s mouth.  
Luckily, it was enough to attract attention of one of the other guests at the party, who peeked into the bedroom, but only apologized for the intrusion, thinking he’s inadvertently interrupted a quickie.  
However, the fact that he didn’t know who the woman in the bedroom was happened to be enough for him to approach Molly about the whole thing. He was a police investigator after all, he figured out what was going on. More or less.  
“Detective Hooper?”  
“You can call me Molly, we’re not at work.”  
“Yes. Right. Molly. Em…There’s something happening in that bedroom over there…” He pointed in the appropriate direction. “I’m…I’m not sure. I don’t know. Maybe it’s none of my business. And I don’t even know…”  
“Could you maybe get to the point, Jason?”  
“Right. I…I think someone is having sex with your slave.”  
“What?!”  
All color drained from Molly’s face in an instant. It even scared the young man in front of her. He wanted to apologize, or maybe offer his assistance, or…something. But she stormed off and into the bedroom before he could even open his mouth.  
Molly knew, of course, that whatever was happening in that bedroom could not be accurately described as 'having sex'. She knew the emotional state Irene was in, she knew by now many of the things that had happened to her during her years in slavery. She knew that there was absolutely no way that she would be willingly participating in any kind of sexual activity with a total stranger, and that whatever was happening could only be classified as rape.  
By the time Molly made it to the bedroom, Irene was almost naked and Rondo’s husband was rolling a condom onto his dick. It was rather disturbing that in a world where women had to make their own tampons condoms were easily available. But in that moment Molly was glad of it. If the guy didn’t take the time to protect himself with the latex shield, she might have been too late.  
It only took Molly a second to get to where they were standing, grab him by the collar and shove him as far away from Irene as she could. He crashed into the desk with an expression of shock and annoyance on his face. Molly didn’t even say a single word as she picked him up by his shirt and threw him out of Irene’s bedroom, his dick still waving around outside of his clothes, though looking slightly less enthusiastic now.  
“What the hell?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Hooper?” He exclaimed, hastily tucking his condom-clad cock back into his trousers.  
“Get out of my house.” Molly said in a calm stern voice.  
“Oh, you only want her to yourself, eh? Should have just said so.” He smiled, trying to save face, thought it was a bit difficult, with his wife finally catching on to what was happening and looking at him as though trying to set him on fire with her eyes. “But come on, you can’t blame me! She’s pretty hot. Even with that cast and ridiculous clothes.”  
“Get out before I arrest you for attempted rape.”  
He laughed condescendingly.  
“For what now? She’s a slave! Jeez, get over yourself.”  
Molly was now between bursting into tears from frustration and punching the crap out of the damn bastard. She took a step towards him in such a menacing manner that he involuntarily took a step back and his face gave away genuine fear.  
At that moment, Detective Rondo placed herself as a human fence between them.  
“Molly, Molly, please.” Rondo pleaded, with one arm outstretched towards Molly and the other sort of guarding her husband.  
It wasn’t that Molly was insanely formidable, but people who worked with her knew that despite all of her kindness and compassion, she possessed both physical strength and mental ability to do quite a bit of damage under the right circumstances. Rondo also knew that her husband was all bark and no bite and stood absolutely no chance against Molly if she chose to engage in a physical confrontation.  
“We’ll leave, okay? Please.” Rondo hurried her smug but slightly scared husband out of the house as fast as she could.  
The party could hardly survive that and the rest of the guests quickly excused themselves and left within minutes. Though Molly paid almost no attention to that as she was already on her way back into Irene’s bedroom.  
When she entered, she found Irene sitting on the floor, in the same spot where her assailant pinned her. Her eyes were glassy and empty, the same way they were the very first time Molly saw her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Attempted rape. It's safe to read up until the dialogue starts. After that is where the warning becomes applicable.  
> If what you have trouble with is details, you could leave me a message, and I'll give you a bare-bones summary of what happens.  
> Feel free to use [my Tumblr](http://faithsoprano.tumblr.com/) if you'd like to contact me more privately.


	14. Chapter 14

Irene was still mostly naked. It didn’t seem like a good idea to touch her, so Molly took the blanket off Irene’s bed and carefully draped it over her body.  
That was really the only thing Molly could do with certainty. After that she was at a loss. What could she do? What was she supposed to say? She slid down onto the floor a few feet away from Irene, the corner of the room separating them. They sat like that for some time. The house grew quiet as all the guests fled the scene.  
“I’m so sorry.” Molly finally spoke.  
No reply followed. Molly pulled up her knees to her chest and started crying quietly, part from anger, part from frustration, part from guilt. That condescending laughter was still ringing in her ears, reminding her of just how unfair the world was.  
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” She repeated every few minutes, almost inaudibly.  
“It’s not your fault, ma’am.” Irene finally replied.  
Molly jumped a little, broken out of her self-chastising litany by an unexpected response.  
“Maybe not directly. But I let him in. So, it’s my fault. It’s my fault I couldn’t protect you.”  
“It’s not your job to protect me, ma’am.”  
“Maybe not, but how are you ever going to heal if you can’t even be safe in your own home?”  
Irene looked at her with an expression of subtle surprise and confusion. She’d never really thought about it, never allowed herself to feel that this really was her home. And yet, it was. Of course, it was. It felt more like home than any home she’d ever had.  
“No one has ever defended me like that, ma’am. Not even when I was a free person.”  
Molly smiled.  
“Something tells me you didn’t need to be defended much back then.”  
“What makes you say that, ma’am?” Irene became a bit concerned. Why would Molly make assumptions about her past? Did she research her?  
“It’s just…” Molly smiled to herself as if she knew some big secret. “I can see it in you, you know. Sometimes, from underneath all those layers of emotional scar tissue, there is a strength bubbling through. I don’t know what it was you did before you ended up in slavery, don’t know who you were. But you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You just need time to remember that.”  
Irene’s face was unreadable. It wasn’t a huge revelation, there was no great shock. Yet it felt important somehow. Irene never really needed validation from other people. The only person whose approval she needed was herself. But then life changed, things happened, and everything she was gradually got torn apart. She couldn’t believe in herself anymore because at times she felt like there wasn’t even a her anymore. Like she was destroyed completely. But then Molly came along and saw something in her that she thought was no longer there. And no, it didn’t suddenly make her strong and self-confident and totally fine. It didn’t fix her and it didn’t even really change her. But Molly treated her with respect, and she began to forget to feel like she was not allowed any. Molly praised her, and she began to feel as though maybe she deserved it. Molly even admired her at times, and she began to remember that there were things about her that were pretty damn admirable. She was becoming the person she once used to be. Maybe even better.  
Irene pulled the blanket tighter around herself, smiled lightly at her friend and said the only thing she could think of.  
“Thank you.”


	15. Chapter 15

Of course, there was little Molly could do to bring Irene’s assailant to justice. It didn’t really matter that there was a dozen witnesses, including his own wife. All that mattered was that his victim was a slave, a person with virtually no rights. He would never get prosecuted.   
Irene was trying to tame Molly’s frustration by saying that even if there was a way to build a case against him, she wouldn’t want to go to court, wouldn’t want to attract attention to herself, it would be dangerous for her. She tried to tell Molly it was better this way. Though Irene wasn’t even sure herself whether it was or wasn’t. It was true that a court hearing would be dangerous in her situation. But letting a rapist get away with his crime was hardly something to be happy about. Not only was it unfair, but it also meant that he might try something like that again. And next time he would probably succeed. Especially if he picked another slave to be his victim. Which became increasingly likely now that he knew that no punishment would follow. 

After Irene’s cast came off, Molly made sure that Irene did the recommended physical therapy. The bone healed up nicely, but there were still a few steps to take on the road to full recovery.   
“What are we doing today?” Irene sat down on the sofa, forcibly patient.  
“Flexibility.” Molly sat on a chair opposite.   
Of course, Irene could very well do these exercises herself. Most of them didn’t require help from another person. But Molly felt better from tracking Irene’s progress, and they both enjoyed having those little scheduled sessions together. Even if they weren’t particularly physically enjoyable.  
“Could I ask you something?” Molly asked, watching Irene turn her hand in circles.   
“Of course.”   
“Why weren’t you taking painkillers? You know my friend would give us some for free, the costs wouldn’t be a problem.”   
Irene smiled sadly.  
“If you’re wondering whether I was a drug addict at some point, that’s not it.”   
Molly tried to hide a fleeting expression of shame on her face. That was indeed that she’d considered. And she felt guilty both for prying and for attempting to do it surreptitiously instead of asking the question head-on. It also amazed her once again how difficult it was to sneak any hidden intentions past Irene. Very often she just knew somehow what Molly was thinking and feeling.   
“I really wasn’t in that much pain, actually.” Irene explained. “Both cost and side effects considered, I didn’t think painkillers were necessary.”  
Molly considered for a bit whether Irene was lying. No drug addict would ever refer to their addition in the past tense. You can never really say ‘I was an addict’, it’s a permanent state of being. Then again, maybe Irene was just that good of a liar. Or perhaps, she was simply telling the truth.   
“I’m sorry,” Molly once again gave in to her compulsion to apologize, “I didn’t mean to pry, I was just curious.”  
“It’s alright.” Irene gave out a painful moan as she drew circles with her forearm. “This actually hurts more than being in the cast ever did.”   
“Yes, rehabilitation really sneaks up on you. You think the trauma is the worst. Then you think the injury will heal and that’s it. But the long-term recovery is really the hardest part. And you never quite know how long it’s going to take.”  
Irene was looking in front of her, at nothing in particular, apparently lost in thought as she moved on to her shoulder exercises. Molly helped her with those, so they concentrated on that task for a few minutes.   
When they were done, they sat in silence that wasn’t quite awkward, but heavy somehow. Finally Molly turned to Irene.  
“I don’t know how you’ll feel about this, and I wasn’t even sure if I should tell you, but… Rondo is divorcing her husband.”   
Irene considered that for a few moment and smiled. Molly let out a sigh of relief and they both laughed at the cruel strangeness of the situation. Was it a victory of some sort? Did it even matter? It was hardly any kind of justice and it wasn’t even necessarily a good thing now that a potential rapist would be single and out in the world, so to speak. But there was still something mildly satisfying about the fact that his actions didn’t go completely unpunished. 

A little under a year later, he would go to a bar and get drunk. And as many predicted, he would indeed attempt rape again. Encouraged by the experience of having gotten away with almost raping a slave once, he would seek out another slave victim. Except in his inebriated state he would mistake a tattoo of a name on a woman’s chest for a slave tattoo and attempt to rape a person that would turn out to be not only free, but not afraid to defend herself. This time he would not get away with his crime, but instead end up with a broken nose, dislocated jaw, severely bruised genitals, and a sentence of 2 years in slavery. While his first attempted rape never did get him any punishment, it didn’t do him much good in terms of character assessment in court. There was that strange poetic justice again that was both very right and very wrong.   
Luckily, neither Molly nor Irene would get a chance to feel bad about feeling good about this turn of events as neither of them would actually be there to know it happened.


	16. Chapter 16

Molly was making dinner as Irene approached her with an expression of unease and uncertainty. Molly was used to that expression. Irene wore it way too often, as she was often unsure of her limitations, and always balancing her virtually free-person conditions at home with her state as a slave outside in the world.  
“I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries here…” Irene became a little less nervous as a smile crawled over Molly’s face. “But…what’s up there in the attic? I mean, it’s locked. I’ve never seen you go there in the whole time that I’ve been here. Please, ignore me if this is some sort of family secret--“  
Molly laughed at that.  
“Yes, the body of my dead deformed sister is up there.”  
Irene managed a mildly acerbic smile. Sarcasm was something she still didn’t allow herself much.  
“I just don’t have the key.” Molly explained.  
“Well, I…” Irene hesitated for a moment. “I can pick the lock.” She waited for a reply in trepidation. “If you allow me, of course.”  
“Really? I mean, tried it a couple of times, but I’m not very experienced with that sort of thing. Have a go at it though, by all means.”  
Irene’s face lit up. She was getting quite bored spending most of her time in the house, and unlocking a hidden room seemed sort of like an adventure.  
“Dinner first though.” Molly stated.  
“Yes, ma’am.”  
Molly tilted her head and her face bore both a smile and an expression of exaggerated annoyance.  
“Sorry.” Irene replied with a grin. 

After dinner they found the necessary tools to make a tension wrench and two picks. Raking the lock with the S-shaped picked didn’t work, so Irene moved on to the other pick and started carefully feeling the pins in the lock, solving it like a puzzle. After about 9 minutes, a click broke the silence and the door creaked open.  
Irene motioned for Molly to go first. It was her house, after all.  
A short and surprisingly sturdy stairway lead them into a spacious attic with two large windows. Wooden support columns separated the attic into 3 parts. One was cluttered with old junk, the other two were empty but for dust and spider webs.  
“Wow.” Molly went towards the side with all the old junk. There was probably some family history in there somewhere. Maybe old photos or journals.  
“This is quite a bit of room.” Irene walked around the empty space.  
Not only was the attic wide, it also was tall enough for a person to stand and walk around without having to crouch down. It was essentially another room, and a big one at that.  
“We can put this to good use.” Molly looked around.  
“An inside garden maybe?”  
“Or a gym, if I can get training equipment.”  
“Yeah…”  
Irene looked around with pure excitement on her face. She didn’t even have any particular desires about what to do with this space. It’s just the idea of something new to do that delighted her. Even just cleaning it up seemed like fun because it was new.  
“You know what?” Molly noticed Irene’s expression and was willing to do just about anything to keep that flame ablaze. “It’s yours.”  
Irene’s eyes shot towards Molly.  
“What do you mean?”  
“This space is yours. You can do whatever you want with it. I’ll help you clean it up, and then you can just tell me what you need and we’ll try to set that up. If you want to make it a garden or gym or study, or something else. I’m sure we can assemble some furniture up here.”  
Irene’s smile was intoxicating.  
She moved towards one of the windows with a sort of skip in her walk. She didn’t even realize it, but she was so excited that even her body was giving it away. She ran a finger through the dust on the glass. Molly moved towards her, captivated.  
“I’ve never seen you like this.”  
“Like what?”  
“This excited. If I’d known the attic would make you this happy, I would have broken the door down months ago.”  
Irene grinned.  
“I’m just…bored sometimes. It’s nice to have a project.”  
Molly nodded and smiled, and then…  
“You’re really beautiful like this.” She said without meaning to and it scared her for a moment. But then she watched Irene’s expression change to something uncertain, open, vulnerable. It made her look young and defenseless, but not like before. Not like when she was scared of Molly and of everyone and everything else. That fear guarded her. Though she was helpless and terrified then, there was an emotional wall around her. But now she was looking at Molly with such openness, sincerity and confusion. It was utterly mesmerizing.  
Before even realizing it, Molly was pressing her lips against Irene’s with her hand resting lightly against Irene’s cheek. It was a whole 3 seconds before Molly’s brain went back online and the reality of what she was doing hit her with the kind of force that reality alone is capable of wielding.


	17. Chapter 17

Molly broke the kiss and practically leapt away from Irene. There was at least 5 feet of space between them before Molly allowed herself to stop.  
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry…” She said under her breath as if choking. She really was choking a little. It wasn’t a full-on panic attack, but she was sweating and hyperventilating. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry!” Now she was almost screaming.  
“It’s…alright.” Irene smiled reassuringly. She actually quite enjoyed the kiss. She thought she made that clear by actually returning it and she was rather hoping for a continuation when Molly decided otherwise.  
“No, no, oh God, it’s not alright. It’s not alright at all.” Molly was almost crying now.  
Irene was rather confused. What was this? A sexuality crisis? Or was it that she was a slave? It didn’t seem like Molly would be likely to panic like this about either of those options, so why was she falling apart?  
“Oh God, I’m no better than that bastard that tried to rape you.”  
“What?”  
“I forced myself on you. I had no right to do that. I’m so sorry, René.”  
And now it was becoming clear. And to be fair, she did have a point. Of course, a chaste 3-second kiss was nothing nearly comparable to a rape attempt, but she did, in fact, sexually impose herself on Irene. That was hardly ever acceptable, especially not towards a person with an extended history of violence and abuse, some of that history quite recent.  
“It’s fine, really.” Irene was trying her best to calm Molly down, but failing miserably.  
“No, no, it isn’t. It’s not fine, and you shouldn’t think that it is. I had no right to do that.”  
It wasn’t just about the fact that Molly kissed her friend. Under different circumstances, in a saner world, perhaps, this wouldn’t be that big of a deal. Irene could walk away, break the kiss, maybe even slap Molly for kissing her without permission. But no matter how hard they both tried to forget it, Irene was a slave. A person trained to succumb to the master’s wishes, a person abused for years, a person that perhaps wasn’t yet capable of rejecting sexual pursuits or even understanding where within herself slave submission ended and true consent began.  
And there was no way Molly would ever allow herself to exploit that.  
“It was just a kiss, and you barely even touched me.”  
“I shouldn’t have touched you at all. Certainly not without your permission.” Molly walked father away from Irene, as if being near her would somehow hurt her. Like she would burn Irene if their orbits got too close. “God, I’m so sorry. I’m a horrible person.”  
“You’re not--”  
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”  
Molly was having a real emotional crisis now, crippled with guilt and shame. She stared at the floor and apologized non-stop between shallow breaths.  
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”  
Irene tried approaching her, but Molly only backed away and apologized louder.  
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”  
Tears were streaming down her face now, she was choking on air and continued her apologetic litany until it became genuinely terrifying. Irene kept trying to think of a way to stop this somehow as it was beginning to look like a serious health risk.  
“Molly!”

Silence.  
Molly’s stream of apologies has finally stopped and she looked up at her friend.  
Irene had never before that moment called Molly by her name. She’d stopped calling her ‘ma’am’ some time ago, but there was still something stopping her from using Molly’s name. She still felt like it wasn’t okay yet. Not until now.  
“Molly, please.” Irene raised her arms towards Molly and moved towards her.  
Molly stepped away, but then stopped and allowed Irene to get closer.  
“You’re right.” Irene moved slowly towards Molly. “You’re right, it wasn’t okay for you to kiss me without asking first. You acted on impulse. It happens.” She put her hands on Molly’s shoulders. “But you know what? I forgive you.”  
Molly was shaking silently, tears still gliding over her cheeks.  
“I can’t--”  
“I know.” Irene embraced Molly and allowed her to ride out her emotional breakdown. When Molly finally stopped shaking, Irene let go and placed a hand on Molly’s cheek. “It’s alright though. Not because it was alright to begin with, but because I don’t mind. It’s alright with me.”  
Molly finally forced herself to look into Irene’s eyes. They were kind and reassuring.  
“Are you sure?”  
“Absolutely.”  
“I just…I don’t know if you really want this or if--”  
“Molly, you have done everything in your power to make me feel like my slave status doesn’t matter. I know you’d never purposefully hurt me.”  
“I’m…I’m just not sure if it’s right under the circumstances.”  
Irene moved her lips towards Molly’s ear and lowered her voice to a whisper.  
“Then let me lead.”

Irene slowly closed the space between their lips. The second kiss was only slightly longer than their first and just as innocent. When they broke apart, they both smiled and Irene ran a thumb over Molly’s cheek to wipe away the tears that were quickly drying on her skin. Then she dove in for another kiss, and that one wasn’t quite as chaste. Their lips parted, and their tongues started a marvelous dance together.  
Of course, Molly didn’t know this at the time, but Irene had far more experience in this area than Molly did. Before the years of sexual abuse, Irene had years of good sex. Enjoyable, consensual, and often paid for. But it was all irrelevant now. Neither Irene’s former job, nor any of the relationships that either of them had in the past would give them directions on how to handle this situation. All Molly hoped was that Irene truly wanted it. All Irene knew was that she really did. They would learn things about each other, try things, experience things. But that would be later. That day Molly let Irene lead them into this new stage of their relationship because that was the only way she could be sure that she was not forcing her friend into anything she wouldn’t want. And while Molly would always feel guilt about that first kiss, deep down she would never really regret it.


	18. Chapter 18

Irene was rather wary of the idea of going outside. She wanted to, she really did. But when she thought of actually doing it, a chill of terror ran down her spine.  
It took a few months before she finally ventured outside, to get some pots and bins for her attic garden. It went fairly well, though she felt like her heart would jump out of her throat by the time she got home. She almost decided to never leave the house again, but realized that that probably wasn’t the best idea in the long run. This was a fear she needed to conquer. Or at least try.  
She dedicated one section of the attic to an herbal garden and another to a sort of bedroom study. The secluded nature of attic space gave the place a feel of shelter, it felt like a hide-out. A love nest, if you will.  
But she wanted a table up there and they didn’t have one that could fit through the door, so another trip outside was necessary. Realizing Irene’s insecurity, Molly offered to go with her under the guise of a table being too heavy and massive to be carried by one person. Irene gladly accepted the offer.  
It was much easier to be outside with Molly by her side, for several reasons. Reasons that were proven logical and justified when a man attacked them with a hand gun. He took a shot at Irene, but missed. Molly disarmed him before he could make another attempt, and then – much to his surprise – arrested him. 

“Why did you try to shoot a police officer?” Molly’s partner asked the shooter in the interrogation room. Molly was sitting beside him. She wasn’t supposed to investigate this, strictly speaking. But her presence during the interrogation could elicit answers that would otherwise remain unuttered.  
“Her? No. I wasn’t after her.”  
“Then who were you after?” Molly asked, even though she knew the answer.  
“The other one, the slave.”  
“And why would you want to kill a slave?”  
“Don’t know, don’t care.”  
“Who hired you?” Molly asked as it was now obvious that this was a hit man, rather out of his depth.  
“I think I’d like my lawyer now. We still get that right, don’t we?”  
He didn't say another word after that, so the detectives were forced to leave the room in disappointment.

“Think we could get the name out of him if we promise him a deal?” Molly’s partner suggested.  
“I sure hope so. He doesn’t look like a very high class assassin. Whoever hired him probably thought it would be an easy hit, didn’t expect him to run into complications.”  
“Just his luck his target was escorted by a police officer.”  
Molly smiled. It really was lucky. It she hadn’t offered to assist Irene with her errand, she probably would have been dead by now.  
“Do you think we can get protective detail?”  
“For…for your slave?”  
Molly shot him an angry look.  
“I’m sorry.” Her partner hesitated. “I just don’t know if we could clear that with--”  
“Get it for me then. If someone’s after René, I might get caught in the crossfire.”  
“Yes, alright.” 

Molly returned home with an officer who would take the first shift guarding her home. She wasn’t even sure if it was necessary. The assassin was in custody, it would take time before whoever hired him would find someone else to complete the job. Or perhaps they’d give up altogether. She really hoped that would be the case.  
When she entered the house, she found Irene sitting on the sofa without moving. The police had taken her statement about the incident earlier and sent her home. She looked at Molly now with an expression that was difficult to read. So Molly simply took that as a silent question that clearly needed to be answered whether or not it was asked.  
“He was hired to kill you. We don’t know by whom yet. But we’ll do our best to find out.”  
Irene nodded. Molly knelt at her feet and simply looked at her for several long moments. Finally, Irene slid off the sofa and into Molly’s arms. She rested her head on Molly’s shoulder and whispered:  
“They found me.”


	19. Chapter 19

They were lying on a mattress in the attic, watching the sunrise. The windows were now clean and the sky was easily visible and utterly beautiful. Molly sometimes caught herself thinking that The Erasure wasn’t as bad as some of the possible alternatives. It killed her mother, it killed half of her friends. And yet, if an Apocalypse of some sort had to happen, this one wasn’t the worst case scenario. At least it didn’t kill everyone, it didn’t destroy all life on the planet, it didn’t destroy the planet itself. It really could have been much worse.  
“I love the smell up here.” Molly said, breathing in deeply.  
“It’s the basil.” Irene replied. “The scent is really strong.”  
“I love it.”  
Irene crawled from under the blanket for a few moments to pluck a basil leaf and bring it to Molly.  
“Are you alright?” Irene asked, watching Molly twirl the leaf in her fingers. “You seem really…lost in thought.”  
“Yes, I’m just…I’m fine.”  
“Oh.” Irene rolled away onto her side of the mattress.  
“What?”  
“It’s me, isn’t it? You’re scared for me.”  
“Is that such a bad thing?”  
“Well, no. I mean. I’m glad you are, but I wish you didn’t have to be.”  
“Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to be either.” Molly rolled over, closer to Irene. “Are you sure you can’t tell us anything? Who’s after you? Any information?”  
“Molly, I…”  
“Please, I can’t protect you if I don’t know anything. You said they found you, who’s ‘they’?”  
“That’s the thing though – I don’t know. There are different possibilities here, and if I open that can of worms, I risk doing more damage than good.”  
“Right.” Molly rolled away.  
They both lay on their backs, staring at the roof above them, out the window, at the leaf in Molly’s hand.  
“Can I ask you something?” Irene propped her head up on her arm.  
“Always.”  
“Why are you vegan?”  
“I…why, does it bother you?”  
“No, I’m just curious about your reasoning. I mean, I get that you like animals and all that, but we are at the top of the food chain.”  
“Perhaps.”  
“Have you killed anyone? In the line of duty?”  
“No.”  
“Would you?”  
“If I had to, I suppose.”  
“And that’s okay with you, but you won’t eat a cow?”  
“It’s not that, even. I mean…not for me.”  
“What is it then?”  
“It’s…” Molly hesitated for a second. “It’s the slavery actually.” She looked over at Irene whose eyebrows were slightly raised now. “When we started sending people into slavery, treating them – as they say – like animals, it just hit me that it’s not really okay to treat anyone that way, not humans, not animals. And we’re just doing it because the majority decided that it’s acceptable.”  
“Did you just compare me to a factory chicken?” Irene cocked an eyebrow, though she wasn’t actually angry.  
“Perhaps.” Molly hesitated again. She wasn’t sure if this conversation was really that good of an idea. “Their bodies are not their own, they’re used for the pleasure, needs or satisfaction of their owners. And when they can no longer do what is wanted from them, they’re discarded. And they never even committed any crime to--” She looked over at Irene who was now lost in thought and staring into midair. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” Molly ran her hand over Irene’s shoulder.  
“No, no, it’s…fine. You have a point, I suppose.”  
“Anyway, it’s…I don’t know. I started working with the police because I wanted to make sure as few people as possible ended up in slavery. It seems only fair to give animals the same treatment. I just want to minimize the damage I’m doing.” She looked up at Irene who had a smile on her face that seemed slightly patronizing. “You think it’s silly, don’t you?”  
“No, I think it’s…very you.”  
“Very me?”  
“Kind, compassionate, maybe a little self-sacrificial.”  
“I’m really not suffering much from it, you know.”  
“Apparently. I keep thinking I should be doing more of the cooking, but you’re so amazing at it, I don’t dare offer my mediocre attempts instead.”  
“Why thank you, but you’re-- Ah, damn.” Molly’s intended flirtation was cut off by a distant ringing of the phone.  
“Don’t get that.”  
“I have to. Might be important.”  
Irene rolled her eyes in annoyance as Molly left the warmth of their love nest and walked downstairs to pick up the phone. Irene stared at the sky, as content as she could be under the circumstances, though a constant worry plagued her mind pretty much at all times.  
A few minutes later Molly returned, and her entire body gave off a sense of anxiety, excitement and determination.  
“The hit man took the deal.” She explained. “We know who hired him to kill you.”


	20. Chapter 20

Irene was holding a piece of paper with the sketch of the woman who hired a hitman to kill her.  
“Do you know her?” Molly’s partner asked.  
“I…I’m not sure. I don’t think so, sir.”  
“She hired a man to kill you and you’re telling me you don’t know who she is?”  
“It’s okay.” Molly interrupted. She lead her partner out of the room for a private talk. “Let’s try to remember who the victim is here.”  
“I’m sorry, Hooper, I just don’t believe her.”  
“You realize that whoever is after her might be from her past, pre-slavery? That was a long time ago, she might not remember this person.”  
“Are you telling me your slave pissed someone off so hard they want to kill her, and it just slipped her mind?”  
Molly let out a loud angry breath.  
“Let me talk to her, okay?”  
He hesitated for a moment, but gave up rather quickly. He didn’t even care that much. An attempted assassination of a slave? They wouldn’t even be investigating this at all if it wasn’t for Molly’s presence during the attempt and the fact that it was her slave. He was mildly curious, but hardly invested in cracking the case.  
“Fine.” He said, already heading out the door.  
Molly returned to Irene. She was glad her partner wasn’t that interested in solving the case or else he could have taken a more serious approach. He could have attempted to unseal Irene’s slavery records, and that could lead to a lot of trouble. No. It was better to handle this as safely as possible.  
“Listen, if you don’t want me to go through the official channels, I won’t. But if you know who this is, why she’s after you, how to find her, we can get her. The hitman will testify.”  
Irene only shook her head. She was shutting down again. Molly wondered if seeing the image was bringing something back, or if Irene was simply too terrified to speak. She was lying, of course. Molly knew it, but resisted the urge to press the matter. They could have that woman, they really could prosecute. And to punish a crime against a slave would be virtually unprecedented. She really wanted this to work out right. But Irene’s safety and sanity were far more important.  
“Alright. But please, tell me if you remember something, okay?”  
Irene nodded. 

That night Irene had to go outside again. And this time the errand was hardly trivial. She was seeking out one of her old contacts. It was risky, it was dangerous, it had to be done.  
The person she was meeting specialized in tracking various types of activity, both online and off. He was a spider in the middle of a web of informants, reeling in facts that might seem insignificant to most, but fell into place in his head like puzzle pieces. He could ask questions that had no connection to the answers he sought and yet get exactly what he needed.  
Irene was hardly in a position to request such complex services, but luckily, the man owed her a debt. And was one of the few people in her life that had no reason to hate her. And the nature of his dealings almost guaranteed anonymity. Almost.  
After her initial request, he spent most of the night collecting information. He offered to spend a few more days on the matter. Irene expressed her gratitude, but mentioned that she might not be able to come back without exposing herself to more danger. Considering the results of his search, he expected as much.


	21. Chapter 21

Irene returned home well after sunrise to find Molly pale and angry, pacing around the living room. When Irene entered the room, Molly sprung at her with a scream.  
“Where the hell have you been?!”  
“I…I had to go out.”  
“Had to go out? For the whole night? And it didn’t occur to you to tell me?”  
“I’m sorry.” She really was sorry. She’d thought she would return much earlier and Molly wouldn’t notice her absence. But as it often happens, things didn’t exactly go according to plan.  
“There’s a killer after you! You were shot at not 3 days ago, and you just go out, at night, alone?”  
“Listen, I’m sorry, but I needed to do something.”  
“Would it kill you to tell me? Because, you know, not telling me actually could kill you.”  
“I’m fine, I’m back, relax.”  
“Relax?! Are you joking me? I was going insane here! I was about to start calling in favors to have people search for you! But it’s not like it’s easy to just report you as a missing person.”  
“You did _not_ do that.” Irene looked at Molly furiously, her voice rising with what she hoped was more of a statement than a question.  
“No! No, I didn’t. Because that would apparently put you in more danger. And that is exactly why you shouldn’t just run off in the middle of the night without telling me anything!”  
Irene fell silent. A realization hit her. They were arguing, she just screamed at Molly in anger, and Molly responded in kind. She was so cross with Irene, and yet Irene did not feel threatened in the slightest. If anything, she felt protected. Molly was angry because she was scared for her, but she took special care not to do what Irene asked her not to do. Despite the fact that Irene hardly revealed enough information for Molly to even take her request seriously, she went out of her way to ensure her safety without breaking the rule that hinged on nothing but Irene’s word. Which was apparently all Molly needed.  
It was as though the remainder of her shackles fell off her, and puzzle pieces fell into place in Irene’s mind. Just like that, her trust in Molly was complete and unshakable.  
Molly was about to continue her righteous tantrum, when she noticed that Irene was still and quiet. She thought perhaps she scared her or truly made her feel guilty. The latter would not be such a bad thing, but frightening Irene into a stupor was certainly never Molly’s intention.  
“René…are you okay?”  
Irene looked at Molly in silence for a few second.  
“My name is Irene Adler. In the line of my work, before The Erasure, I’ve come to learn a lot of sensitive information. The kind that could at some point put me in danger. To ensure my safety, I started collecting such information on purpose. I got carried away.” Irene watched Molly’s face carefully. There was a mix of shock, fear and something else. Excitement, perhaps? She looked as if a rare butterfly just sat on her hand and she couldn’t move a jolt for fear of scaring the creature away. Irene went on. “I had a camera phone. It contained enough secrets to keep me safe. Until, of course, my phone fried like every other piece of equipment in the world, and everyone I’ve ever angered with my little hoarding habit no longer had a reason to not come after my head. Out of revenge, resentment, or the simple fact that my head, in fact, does still contain quite a bit of information that many would not want revealed.”  
She paused to allow Molly to process.  
“How did you end up in slavery? Did you sell yourself because you thought you’d be safer?”  
“I was apprehended by the government and given options. I made a choice.”  
“So, what was your work? Did you work for the government?”  
“No. I…” Irene hesitated. She really wasn’t sure how Molly would react to this particular part of her history. She’d never been ashamed of her work, not in the slightest. In fact, she took pride in it. But she was willing to swallow that pride if it meant keeping Molly. Then again, she felt that perhaps above all, Molly would prefer honesty. “I was a dominatrix.”  
“A…” Molly sort of…choked on nothing. “Ah…okay.”  
Irene waited. Then waited some more.  
“Are you disgusted with me?” She finally asked, trying as hard as she could to keep the trembling out of her voice.  
“What? No, no. I just…no, it’s fine.”  
It was true that Molly was never much of an expert in matters of unorthodox sexual endeavors, but she also hardly felt the need to judge those who were. What she was, in fact, contemplating at that moment was how bored Irene must have been with the excruciatingly vanilla sex they’d been having.  
“I’m sorry I’ve kept this from you for so long, I just--”  
“No, no, I get it. You have an unidentified number of people wanting you dead. You do what you need to do to protect yourself.”  
“It gets worse.” Irene said, almost apologetically.  
“Of course it does.”  
“I left last night to meet up with an old contact of mine. He can track almost any kind of information while staying undetected. He was able to confirm that the threat is far more real that I’d hoped. Somehow several of my enemies learned of my current life. It’s only a matter of time before one of them finishes that hitman’s job.” She looked at Molly with a sort of panicked begging expression on her face. “What do I do?”  
Molly allowed panic to wash over her, but a few seconds later, her expression changed from fear and confusion to that of unbendable determination. She put her hands on Irene’s shoulders and gave her the most reassuring smile she could manage.  
“We run.”


	22. Chapter 22

“Are you sure about this?” Irene asked even though she really didn’t want to. She was afraid Molly would change her mind, but she felt it was necessary to give her that option nonetheless.  
“Of course I am.”  
“I mean…you don’t have to go with me. You have a life here. I could go alone.”  
“Do you not want me to come?”  
“Of course I do!” Irene almost yelled. “I want that more than anything. I just…I don’t want you to resent me some day when you realize you really should have stayed.” She watched Molly carefully, trying to understand what she was really feeling. “You know there’s no going back.”  
Molly simply stared at Irene for a while, realizing the woman’s fears and trying to think of the best possible way to convey her emotions, put Irene’s mind at ease. If that were even possible.  
“This world…it’s broken. Any life anyone has here is just putting pieces back together or building something from scratch. It’s all shattered and it’s all just cracked mugs glued back together in hope that they won’t leak.” She paused for a moment. “Half the people I knew died. My mother died. Even the guy I was dating at the time died. And I was left here. And all I did was just try to make myself useful. But my life…the life you say I have here…it was hollow and joyless. Until you came along. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing that would hurt me more than losing you.”  
Irene nodded and put her arms around Molly, if only to hide a tear that was treacherously pooling out of her eye. It was settled then.

Molly allowed the case of Irene’s attempted assassination to be closed without proper resolution, remorsefully admitting to her partner that not much else could be done. The hitman was fined and sentenced to a period of community service for assaulting a police officer and attempted damage of personal property. Molly secretly hoped someday the universe would pay him back for what he did. It would, of course. Poorly skilled assassins don’t tend to live very long.  
That settled, the real challenge began. As the veil of darkness covered the city, Molly headed to a home where she knew she was always welcome – 221B Baker Street, the Holmes-Watson residence.  
“Molly! Please, come in.” John let Molly inside with a wide smile. “You should have called first, you almost missed us.”  
“It’s okay.” Molly nodded. “I don’t mind the walk.”  
They walked up the stairs and entered the flat.  
“Ah, Molly, lovely to see you.” Sherlock gave Molly a curt nod. “What’s wrong?”  
Right, to business then.  
“Wrong?” John’s expression changed to that of concern. He’d always been quite good at dealing with emotions, but Sherlock was by far better than his husband at noticing signs of tension and distress, even when people tried their best to hide them. “Something’s wrong?”  
“Yes, em…” Molly wasn’t sure how to begin.  
“Please, Molly, whatever it is, you know you hardly risk facing judgment in this house.” Sherlock encouraged, both out of friendly compassion and desire to shorten the time spent watching Molly squirm in indecision.  
Molly sat down on the sofa and looked at John.  
“You remember the woman who lives with me? You helped her with an injury last year.”  
“Yes, of course.”  
“Well, ah…She needs help.” She turned to Holmes. “Your help, Sherlock.”  
She now had Sherlock’s full attention. John was cautious about what he said as he remembered Molly’s request not to reveal any information about the woman in question.  
“What happened?” He inquired.  
“She has a…dangerous background. There are people that want her dead. She was protected by the anonymity of slavery for a while, but they found her somehow. And now she needs to run. As far away as possible.”  
“That can be arranged.” Holmes assured.  
“And, Sherlock…” Molly took a deep breath to help her deal with how it was all about to become real. “I’m going to run with her.”


	23. Chapter 23

Molly explained the situation in full. She didn’t reveal everything she knew, but she was also aware that she didn’t have to. Sherlock needed very little to go on to find out more than was even necessary. It scared Molly still, but they were about to escape, and she hoped that even if Irene’s safety was jeopardized any further because too much information was spilled, it wouldn’t matter. She trusted Sherlock to ensure that wherever they were going, they would be safe.  
They met up the next day, now with Irene present, and Sherlock began methodically explaining his plan, every once in a while asking them questions to learn their boundaries and find out how far they were willing to go in the process.  
“How do you feel about plastic surgery?”  
“I…” Molly had something akin to horror in her eyes. “Is that necessary?”  
“Not entirely.” Sherlock explained. “But relocation and name change do not guarantee full safety under these particular circumstances.”  
“I’ll do it.” Irene looked at Molly. “If that’s okay with you.”  
“Of course. If it’ll help.” Molly was slightly taken aback by Irene sort of asking her permission. They were past this, Irene didn’t need Molly’s permission for anything. But she later realized that she was asking as a lover, not as a slave. That too hardly made sense to Molly, but her mind was too busy worrying about the problem at hand and she decided that it was a discussion for another day.  
“Perfect. We should start immediately. The sooner the process is completed, the better your chances of survival are. John will assist with this part. You will also need to have your slave tattoo removed.”  
Both women nodded their understanding. Sherlock went on explaining.  
“You will get a set of new documents. And then you will be relocated to a small town in Vermont, USA. My contacts will assist with the travel. However, to minimize the possibility of information leak, once you arrive in the state, you will be on your own.”  
Molly nodded again. She knew how some of this worked. She was never exactly part of the underground anti-slavery movement – she was a police officer after all – but she was familiar enough with some of the process. She knew the documents they would get would not actually be fake. Not entirely. They would, in fact, effectively be stealing identities. Of dead people. With the millions upon millions having died during The Erasure, many of those deaths were not properly registered. There were no relatives to report each other missing, so there were thousands of people that were sort of neither dead nor alive from the legal standpoint. No one knew where they were and if they were alive or not. The anti-slavery movement used that to help relocate slaves with the use of those undead people’s documentation. It wasn’t strictly legal, but it was hardly hurting anyone. Molly hoped that the person whose identity she was about to appropriate would be happy to be of help from beyond the grave. It was a silly thought, but she clung to it as it was better than simply feeling guilty about something she couldn’t really change.  
“And, of course, the hardest part.” Sherlock went on explaining. “Considering the imminent threat of assassination, I would recommend that before you start your new lives, you end your current ones. Nothing wards off enemies quite like dying.”  
“You…you want us to fake our deaths?” Molly had not expected that, though of course, it made perfect sense now that she was forced to think about it.  
“Yes. I’ll help, of course.” Sherlock picked up a few papers from his desk. They were covered in coded messages he alone could read. “This is where the shameful oversimplification of crime investigation in this city works in our favor. Molly, I understand you own an old vehicle that belonged to your father?”  
“Yes, but I haven’t used it in years. I’m not even sure it’s functional. Why?”  
“My contacts will acquire unclaimed unidentified bodies to be your stand-ins when that car explodes and burns the bodies to the point of unrecognizability. There will not be a close enough examination of the bodies to reveal our deception. And with the recent assassination attempt, the case will seem rather obvious to those investigating.”  
Molly suddenly felt even more guilty. Not only were they stealing identities, they were stealing bodies too. That was four dead people giving themselves up for the sake of their escape. Irene noticed the worry on Molly’s face.  
“Are you okay?”  
“Yeah…yes, I’m fine. It’s just…overwhelming.”  
Irene placed her hand on Molly’s back and rubbed soothingly. Sherlock’s expression remained neutral, but there was a softness in his eyes. Apart from John, Molly was the closest friend he’s ever had, and he knew just how miserable she was after The Erasure. She never let it show, she never complained. But she was just sort of…there. Emotions were, admittedly, never Sherlock’s strong point, nor did he always give them close consideration; but he wanted his friend to be happy. And this, what she had with Irene…however damaged and troubled this union was, it was stronger than most, forged in something that most people would not be able to withstand. And while Molly was nervous and trembled slightly in anticipation of what was to come, the sadness that permanently resided in her eyes since The Erasure was gone. Her decision to give up everything and run away with Irene spoke volumes. If John had to run away tomorrow, Sherlock would follow him in a heartbeat. And he knew John would do the same. So, looking at the women in front of him, Sherlock knew just how precious this bond was. And he intended to do his absolute best not to allow anything to break it.


	24. Chapter 24

The doctor taking care of Irene’s surgeries was skilled in this matter. She’d performed a lot of surgeries of escaping slaves, and before that, for people in witness protection programs. With one look at a person she knew exactly what to alter to maximize the change in appearance while minimizing recovery time. After the surgeries were done, Irene looked like her own distant relative. She had her slave tattoo removed and her hair style changed.  
Molly’s appearance was also altered, though not quite as drastically. She had her hair cut and dyed, artificial tan was applied to her skin, and she was given glasses that somehow almost made her look like a different person. She didn’t, strictly speaking, need to have her looks changed as she wasn’t the one with killers on her tail, but she was about to be legally dead, she couldn’t risk looking like herself while she was still in the city. Besides, just in case any of Irene’s enemies were aware of her connection with Molly, extra precautions were never unwelcome.  
By the time the escape plan was in full action, Molly was becoming increasingly amazed at the extent of Sherlock’s connections and the anti-slave movement in general. Not only did they acquire and impeccably alter documentation for them, along with providing unclaimed bodies, but they staged a car accident that could withstand the scrutiny of close inspection, even though that inspection probably wouldn’t even happen.  
All this required a lot of resources. Sherlock did not even remotely wish or expect to be paid or reimbursed for his services, not by Molly. But he was, nonetheless, as he would find out a few days after the escape. Molly’d written a will and Sherlock and John inherited her house. It made perfect sense as all of Molly’s relatives were dead and they were her closest friends. That will was written a long time before Molly even met Irene and was an entirely genuine intention. They would have gotten that house even if Molly’s death was, in fact, real.  
Molly’s colleagues mourned her genuinely. It was a true loss for the force, she was one of the best investigators in the city. After Irene’s apparent death, her slave records were unsealed and her death officially registered. Sherlock made sure that the news of her demise was spread through every channel he could think of. It was best to allow her enemies to think that someone else had gotten to her first.  
As they were about to board a ship that would take them to the States, Sherlock gave them all of their new documents.  
“You are now sisters Jennifer and Laura Winston.” Sherlock ignored a displeased expression on both women’s faces. “Molly, Laura Winston was a paramedic. If you wish to return to medical practice, you may renew her medical license or, perhaps, further your education at some point.” He turned to Irene. “Jennifer Winston was a freelance carpenter, but I imagine she wouldn’t mind you considering a career change; though do try to select something tame and ordinary, you don’t need to attract too much attention to yourself, at least not at first.”  
Irene nodded. They sat in silence for a few moment.  
“So, this is it?” Molly finally spoke.  
“I believe so.” Sherlock rose to his feet. “You remember our arrangement?”  
“Yes.”  
Sherlock looked at Molly with a hint of sadness in his eyes.  
“Would you allow us a moment of privacy, Jennifer?”  
Irene nodded and left the room.  
“I’ll miss you, Sherlock. And John.”  
Sherlock hesitated for a moment. His intention wasn’t to dwell on the sadness of the departure.  
“I’ll miss you too.” He allowed Molly to hug him. He really would miss her, but this was definitely for the best. She was happy with Irene. Everything else was adjustable. “I have something else for you.” He took an envelope out of an inside pocket. “For whenever you’re ready.”  
Molly looked at him with a silent question, but before she could say anything, he leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “Goodbye, Molly.”  
She nodded, put the envelope in her bag and left hastily, not allowing herself to burst into tears. 

As they boarded the ship, Molly was struggling with her emotions. It hurt to leave her city, it was terrifying to sail off towards the completely unknown. But it was also the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to her. And the happiest she’s ever been.  
Irene watched Molly gazing out the window of their room.  
“Do we really have to be sisters?” She finally asked.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well, we have the same last name, but maybe we could just be, you know…married.” It was a statement, or a question, Molly wasn’t sure. Was it a proposal? Then suddenly it hit her. Sherlock’s words: ‘For whenever you’re ready.’ A old conversation flooded back to the forefront of her memory.  
Years before, when John proposed, Sherlock – for lack of a better word – panicked. He ran off, hid himself in a lab and sulked. He wouldn’t talk to anyone, and for several hours, Molly simply sat next to him and waited. When he eventually acknowledged her presence, she proceeded to go through every reason why they were perfect for each other and how absolutely nothing that Sherlock was now telling himself mattered more than the fact that they were meant to be. What he was, in fact, telling himself, was really not what anyone would immediately imagine. Most of the world saw him as an arrogant dick, thinking himself superior to everyone. And for the most part that was true. Except, he was also fully aware of how damaged he was, and how difficult it would be for anyone to deal with that in the long run. He didn’t think himself worthy of John, he didn’t think John would be able to stay with him for long. He kept thinking that maybe if he worked on himself, he’d be good enough for this perfect man, but not yet. He wasn’t good enough for him yet. He was afraid that if he allowed this to happen too early, he would push John away inadvertently. He needed to be better. But would he ever be?  
He didn’t voice all of that to Molly – though she probably knew anyway – he simply said “I’m not ready.”  
And, perhaps, the thing most good friends would say in this situation would be along the lines of ‘then don’t do it’ or ‘if you’re not ready, then you don’t have to’, but Molly knew better. She smiled understandingly and explained.  
“You’ll never be ready. But that just means that you’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

Sherlock was often defeated by the illogical nature of emotion. It was confusing and self-contradicting and often entirely counter-productive. Yet, he did his best to approach it rationally. He could wait forever to be good enough, but he’d never be good enough. Yet John obviously thought he already was, or he wouldn’t have proposed. Perhaps, that was all that mattered. What Molly said was the most logical and sensible thing among the chaos of his emotions. It simply made sense.  
And maybe it wasn’t the deciding factor. Of course, they would have gotten married anyway. It was, as they say, meant to be. But Molly always secretly took pride in having swayed Sherlock in the right direction that day. And he clearly never forgot it either.

And now, looking into Irene’s eyes, considering what she’d just said, Molly reached for her bag and pulled out the envelope.  
“I think maybe we are.”  
The envelope contained a certificate of marriage between Jennifer Winston and Laura Elton, officiated in the state of Massachusetts. These women whose names they now carried were not, in fact, sisters. They were married. They would have been married for almost 10 years now, if they were still alive.  
Molly gave the document to Irene.  
“Your friend is…very sneaky.” Irene was grinning stupidly with the kind of smile you can’t hold back no matter how hard you try. “And, perhaps, more romantic than one would expect.”  
“That he is.” Molly gave her a long intoxicating kiss. “That he is.”


	25. Chapter 25

On the day of Jennifer and Laura’s 10th wedding anniversary, Irene and Molly had their actual wedding, disguised as a renewal of vows. There were no guests, but they didn’t need any.  
They led a quiet life. Molly became a paramedic in honor of the woman whose name she now signed. Irene took small invisible jobs: cashier, janitor, merchandizer; but that was only at first. They lay low for the first 2 years.  
After that they began taking annual vacations to random places in the country. Except they weren’t all that random. They were a number of predetermined cities that Sherlock had Molly memorize before her departure. In those cities, PO boxes were set up that Molly had keys to. Every once in a while, anonymous letters would be sent to one of those boxes, and during their vacations, the Winstons would pick those letters up. It was, perhaps, an unnecessary risk, but the whole thing was so complex and well-concealed, that it was hardly a risk at all. Even the letters themselves were vague and contained aliases and codes that only the people involved could understand. It was secretive to the point of ridiculous.  
It was mostly little bits of personal information, nothing particularly significant. About 3 years after the escape, John started his own medical practice with a special program for patients in poor financial standing. Around the same time, the police started calling for Sherlock’s assistance again as investigations were gradually becoming more thorough, though not always particularly successful without Holmes’ help.  
A piece of truly fascinating news came about 5 years in, when John and Sherlock adopted a son. Not a lot of people expected that. Though it was probably far less shocking than what happened another 2 years later. And that was that John ran for and successfully secured the position of the mayor of London. Probably no one at all expected that. Maybe not even John. Sherlock could almost hear his brother sneering over how Sherlock just seemed to be perpetually surrounded by government representatives. It was almost a blessing that Mycroft was dead by then. Almost.  
During his time in office, and after, when he moved on to a higher governmental position, John did whatever he could to move the country towards the abolition of slavery. Even Sherlock became more open and persistent in his pursuits of the same outcome. John was instrumental in the passing of the first series of slave protection laws, as well as the complete abolition of slavery in the UK, almost 27 years after Irene and Molly’s escape. And though John and Sherlock were hardly the only people responsible for this achievement, their efforts had nonetheless gained them quite a few enemies. And one in particular that bore a lethal grudge.  
After 3 years of intently lying low, Irene got so bored with mindless menial jobs that she finally decided it was time to do something slightly more fascinating. She became a security guard. And then she joined the police. And eventually, she became the sheriff of their little Vermont town.  
“I was a dominatrix once, remember?” She told her wife once. “Being a sheriff isn’t that much different.”  
Molly eventually became an ER doctor. Irene teased her sometimes about the irony of how dying made her switch to live patients.  
A few years after the move they acquired a small house, with a spacious attic. They always had a garden going. Irene never did abandon the vegan diet. She probably didn’t care all that much about animals, but she cared about Molly, and she did it for her.  
On occasion, only once every 4-5 years, they assisted with relocation of slaves from other countries. They couldn’t really be very vocal activists for fear of accidentally attracting too much attention to themselves, but they did what they could. And one of them was even lucky enough to see a world that was almost completely free of slavery. Only a handful of countries held on to the evil institution by the time both women were dead. And though it never should have existed in the first place, it still counted as quite bit of a victory. 

Molly and Irene returned to London only once, almost 33 years after leaving, for John and Sherlock’s funeral. They died within 10 hours of each other – one from a gunshot wound, the other from a heart attack – and were buried together.  
Their son almost scared the women to death when he approached them after the funeral with a quiet “I know who you are”. He apologized profusely upon realizing that that was really not the best opening line under the circumstances. Irene and Molly were only mentioned to him by his parents a few times, always in very vague terms, but it was enough for him to figure out who was before him when he saw 2 women he’d never seen before paying their respects to his parents, clearly arriving from the US, former Londoners, but not for some time. He was really a very smart kid. Molly smiled knowingly, understanding exactly why John and Sherlock were the perfect parents for this young man.  
They kept in touch with him, more openly than they did with John and Sherlock, now that there was virtually no risk of anyone coming after them. It was he who held Molly’s hand at Irene’s funeral 7 years later, and who brought flowers to both of their graves 15 months after that. 

Having few friends and no relatives, they left all their assets to various human and animal rights organizations, except for their house and a few objects of emotional value, which went to John and Sherlock’s son.  
In the end, their life could be described as relatively uneventful, and yet, both of them have saved numerous lives in the line of work, and that is hardly something to disregard. And even though they had few close friends, they were well-remembered by the people in town as a good doctor and an honest cop.  
It was a life that neither of them ever imagined they’d lead. It all turned out so strange, almost surreal. Looking at the unbelievable chain of events that got them there, they sometimes wondered how things would have turned out if they didn’t leave London, if Molly never kissed Irene, if she didn’t go down to that basement, if The Erasure never happened. Would they even have met? Where would they end up? Who would they end up with? Indeed, it was not a life that either of them ever imagined having in their wildest dreams. And yet, nothing else has ever felt more right. It was exactly the life that they were meant to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final credits:  
> Writer - [Faith Soprano](http://faithsoprano.tumblr.com/)  
> Editor - [KittasaurusRex](http://trillflowerfiberarts.wordpress.com/)
> 
> Thank you guys so much for reading! Special thanks to all the people who left comments. I'm really going to miss you all.  
> Special little easter egg for those who battled through to the end: in chapter 22, Molly says that even the guy she was dating at the time died in The Erasure. The guy she was dating... You know...Jim from IT. 
> 
> Alright, that's all, folks!  
> If anyone is interested, I'll start posting a Catlock case fic next week.


End file.
